


Harry Potter and The Death Eater's Son

by KatesBrain



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drama, M/M, Romance, Slash, The Quidditch Pitch: The Changing Room
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-12-08
Updated: 2005-12-10
Packaged: 2018-10-27 08:52:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 58,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10805823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatesBrain/pseuds/KatesBrain
Summary: Harry’s 6th year at Hogwarts begins with Draco taking an opportunity to make life difficult for Harry. But no one appreciates just how effective it has been, having the unintended side-effect of prompting Harry to question his sexuality. Unable to confide in his friends, Harry begins to feel pushed aside as Ron and Hermione start dating and only seem to have eyes for each other. At the same time that Harry becomes more estranged from his friends, he notices that Draco’s behaviour has changed dramatically since the Christmas holiday. This piques Harry’s curiosity and prompts him to get involved in Draco’s life in an unanticipated way.- originally posted July 2004





	1. A Fresh Start

  
Author's notes: I've now realised what Crookshanks is, or at least, _partly_ is. On behalf of the nitpickers out there, for the purposes of this story he is nothing more than a ginger puss.  
"My god, Potter! Are you a monk?" comment thanks to Sue.  
A **big thank-you** to all those who have helped to beta this, **especially Sue, Leslie, Ravana, and Peri.** Any mistakes left are due to my own idiocy; please feel free to point them out to me!  


* * *

Harry felt lost. The meaning that his life had gained since starting at Hogwarts had evaporated at the end of last year, all as a result of one impulsive act. The routine, the background to his existence was still in place: he was still at the Dursley's, and he still had Hogwarts to look forward to. But his perspective on things was bleaker than before. This time last year he had had the dream of being able to live with his godfather—once Sirius's name had been cleared—rather than the Dursleys; but that was impossible now. Last year, he was also blissfully ignorant of the prophecy involving him and Voldemort. 

Harry hated Voldemort with a passion, and he wanted to know that Voldemort was going to pay for all that had occurred. But for him to be the one to do this? And to be responsible for murder? Harry had felt capable of it before—when he first thought that Sirius was responsible for deaths of his parents—but now, something inside of him felt weaker; he lacked conviction. Now that Sirius had died, Harry no longer had someone to fight for. But it was probably just as well; people’s lives seemed to be more at risk whenever they had a connection to him. So Harry stopped himself from caring about the future and his connections with other people; he just spent his summer going through the motions, living from one moment to the next and ignoring what fate would eventually expect from him. 

For the first time in his life, Harry was allowed to do his homework without having to keep it a secret from the Dursleys. Of course, there had been stipulations: it was to be done in his room, and it was not to be discussed. But he could hardly complain about these restrictions given his usual treatment by the other members of the household. Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia and Dudley had certainly been nicer to him this year thanks to the likes of Mad-Eye Moody and the other wizards who had come to say goodbye to Harry at the end of last term. Harry grinned at the memory. Just seeing the group of wizards had shaken the Dursleys up, and this had been helped with Moody heavily ‘suggesting’ they treat Harry with a little more appreciation. The Dursleys had interpreted this as allowing him to do his homework, reducing the number of chores he was expected to carry out, and letting Harry keep in touch with his friends via owl post. Not that they had much say in this last point. Moody had threatened to send someone round if Harry didn’t keep in touch with his friends at least once every three days, and the Dursleys certainly didn’t want any ‘freaks’ visiting.

Harry still felt isolated and lonely, and although it was good to be able to keep in touch with his friends, it still wasn’t the same as being able to talk to them all in person. Most of all, Harry missed his godfather, even though he never really had the chance to get to know the man properly. No matter how hard he tried to believe Professor Dumbledore, or any of his well-meaning friends, he could not stop feeling guilty whenever his thoughts strayed to the end of last year, and they drifted in that direction far too often for Harry’s liking. His negligence, his stupidity, and his arrogance—he could never deny that they all contributed to the death of Sirius Black in their own way. How could he convey all he felt just in words on a piece of parchment? It felt so impersonal to hash out his feelings in this way, to have a long-distance conversation with no personal touches; there was no one to look at him whilst he talked, no one to hold him and give him a word of encouragement at the very moment it was needed. So he never mentioned any of it unless he was specifically asked, and then he would only reply in his next letter with ‘I’m doing okay’. 

At least hearing about Ron and Hermione’s summer exploits cheered him up and gave him a distraction from moping, though their letters also reminded him just how disconnected from them he had felt since the incident at the Ministry. At the end of last term, they had avoided discussing Harry’s mistake and the loss of his godfather with him. Probably because they didn’t want to upset him, Harry thought. He had the feeling that, as time went by, it was less likely the subject would be broached at all.

Harry had also received news that Remus Lupin would be returning once more to Hogwarts as the teacher for Defence Against the Dark Arts. After Fudge’s grand error last year, by publicly ignoring Dumbledore’s assertions that Voldemort had returned, Dumbledore was in a position to insist upon Lupin’s reinstatement. The headmaster firmly believed that Lupin would not be in a situation where he could harm the students of the school, and he was certain that having a werewolf openly teaching at Hogwarts could only help to reduce intolerance in these matters. Harry had a lot of respect for Remus Lupin, and he had learned more from him than from any of his predecessors. So the news of Lupin’s return pleased Harry: at least there wouldn’t be any dud teachers applying for the position this year. 

All in all, the summer had passed fairly peacefully for Harry—far more peacefully than he had anticipated, given what had happened in previous years. There were Death Eaters detained in Azkaban, who had been expected to escape, but as yet, they had failed to do so. Harry had been involved when the Death Eaters concerned had been caught. The downside to their continued imprisonment was the fact that Draco Malfoy would undoubtedly be trying to make Harry’s life hell when they returned to Hogwarts: Draco held Harry personally responsible for his father’s incarceration. This was confirmed towards the end of the summer holidays when he had met up with Ron and Hermione in Diagon Alley. 

The three friends were entering Flourish and Blotts to buy their books when Draco Malfoy passed them on his way out. Harry automatically tensed and made to ignore him, but Malfoy stopped in their path. 

“So, you’re stupid enough to come back to Hogwarts, Potter. You’d better watch your back this year—nobody puts my father in Azkaban and gets away with it.” He glared at Harry, making full use of his gain in height in an attempt to intimidate the Gryffindor.

Harry merely looked back at him with disdain. The image from the end of last year of Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle resembling three gigantic slugs came to mind. How could Malfoy think that Harry would find him intimidating? And after all that had happened to Harry last year, would Malfoy be capable of doing anything that _really_ mattered?

“I didn’t make your father become a lap dog for Voldemort,” Harry replied, his voice thick with sarcasm. “I thought that was all his own bad judgement.”

Malfoy reacted instantly, drawing his wand and scowling. Harry’s hand shot to his own wand, tucked inside his jacket. If he wanted to have a duel in public, Harry wasn’t afraid; he knew he’d have the upper hand.

“Mind your mouth, Potter!” Malfoy spat back at Harry, unwittingly attracting the attention of a man serving behind the counter. The man stared at them indignantly.

“Put your wands down in my shop, right now!” he called out sharply. They both complied, to an extent, by lowering their wands, but they still kept them pointed at each other.

Malfoy narrowed his eyes. He seemed to be seriously thinking about casting a hex, anyway, but he sulkily jammed his wand back into the folds of his cloak before storming out.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea to bait him,” Hermione said. “He’s going to be difficult enough as it is.”

“So you think Harry should just sit back and take it?” Ron asked in disbelief. “It’s not our fault his father is a Death Eater.”

Hermione frowned at him. “But we don’t need to be making things worse… We’re not even at school, and he’s already come close to hexing Harry in public!”

“Look, Hermione, I know you mean well,” Harry said, “but Malfoy just doesn’t seem that scary anymore. Not after all I’ve been through.”

“It doesn’t stop him from doing something that you aren’t expecting, something you can’t defend yourself against. You know that he never fights fair, and he really seems up for revenge.” 

When they had finished buying their supplies they talked as they made their way to Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes. Ron’s mum had told him he wasn’t to spend any money there; he was under strict instructions only to buy school things. But he was still hopeful that Harry might be able to get a couple of freebies, given that Harry was Fred and George’s ‘official sponsor’, as Ron had put it.

“Ginny’s been made a prefect, too. Mum’s ecstatic.” Ron pulled a face to show just how sickening he found the whole business. Harry was very tempted to point out how much Ron enjoyed the attention last year when he was made prefect.

“We haven’t told you about Oliver Wood, have we!” Hermione said excitedly.

“Yeah,” added Ron. “We only found out this morning.”

“So what’s happened? Is he still playing for the Puddlemere United reserve team?” Harry asked, eager to find out the gossip.

“No, he’s been pulled out,” Ron said dramatically. “Had a nasty injury involving a couple of dodgy Bludgers. He was in a bit of a mess when they pulled him off of the pitch; apparently, there was blood everywhere… So, he’s having to take a couple of months off.”

“Really? He’s going to be okay, though?” Harry was puzzled at the excited expressions on his friends’ faces. “Why do you two seem so pleased about it?”

“I suppose it’s a bit mean of us,” Hermione said. “It’s just that Dumbledore has persuaded him to spend his time helping out at Hogwarts! He’s going to be an assistant to Madame Hooch and will be organising all the Quidditch matches.”

“I bet the Slytherins won’t be happy about that!” Harry said with a laugh. 

Harry stayed at The Burrow overnight, and he travelled with them to the station the following morning. Students bustled about, wheeling their luggage towards the train, whilst parents fussed and said their goodbyes. It seemed to Harry that the first years seemed to be shrinking with every passing year; he grimaced as he noticed that a couple of the tiny bodies had recognised him, and they were pointing and whispering to each other in awe. Ron, Ginny, and Hermione soon headed for the prefects carriage, promising to find Harry later and leaving him to find his own seat. 

He bundled his belongings onto the train and found a carriage where Luna, Neville, Seamus, and Dean were already sitting. Luna was, as usual, buried in an upside-down copy of _The Quibbler,_ Neville was lovingly cradling his _Mimbulus_ _mimbletonia,_ which had grown over a foot since Harry had last seen it, and Seamus and Dean were in the midst of an animated discussion.

“So, how’s it going with Ron?” Seamus asked Dean as Harry put his case out of the way and sat down. “He hasn’t given you any lectures on dating his sister yet?”

“No, I haven’t seen him. I hope he won’t be awkward about it. Has he said anything to you, Harry?”

“Well, er, he was a little… surprised… when he found out, but I guess he’s had all summer to get used to the idea…” Harry had a feeling that things had the potential to get a little awkward in their dormitory this year, and he had avoided thinking about it so far. Hopefully, Ron would leave Dean and Ginny be, and things wouldn’t get too messy if they were to break up. Not having a sister, Harry couldn’t quite understand the depth of Ron’s protectiveness, and it was clear that Ginny didn’t appreciate it.

“You’ll have to be on your best behaviour, Dean,” Seamus smirked. “One foot out of line, and he’ll have your head on the block—or another part of your anatomy!”

Harry watched and laughed as Seamus continued to wind Dean up, causing him to worry excessively about Ron. Before long, they heard Malfoy’s penetrating voice from down the corridor.

“Sounds like the prefects are doing the rounds already. I wonder where Ginny is,” Dean mused, looking a little excited at the prospect of seeing her.

“She’ll be along soon, with Hermione and Ron…” Harry trailed off as he noticed Dean pale slightly. He was tempted to join in with Seamus and tease Dean a little, but the thought rapidly disappeared when an unwelcome guest arrived. 

The door to their carriage was suddenly jerked open, and Malfoy stood outside, flanked, as usual, by Crabbe and Goyle. The Slytherin then waltzed in, with Crabbe and Goyle squeezing in behind.

“Just doing my duty as a prefect, Potter. Got to be sure you haven’t got anything in here that you shouldn’t.”

Harry eyed Malfoy carefully as he took a good look at everything in the carriage as if hoping something illegal would jump out at them that they could report.

“You won’t find anything, so you might as well clear off, Malfoy. Unless you’re looking for trouble…”

“Don’t worry, Potter. I’m not about to start anything. Not at the moment,” Malfoy leered and then turned to leave. As he passed through the doors, he looked at Harry. “Just thought I’d come and wish you _luck_. I think you’re going to need it.”

“Do you know what he’s got planned for you, Harry?” Luna asked, looking up from her paper. 

“I’m more than able to give as good as I get…” Harry trailed off, remembering what Hermione had said about Malfoy never playing fair. “But I’ll be keeping my eyes open; I don’t fancy having any surprises.”

For the first time since entering the carriage, Harry registered that Luna was, once again, sitting with Gryffindors instead of her own house. Curious, he asked, “Are you still having trouble with the other Ravenclaws?” 

She nodded as Ron, Hermione, and Ginny turned up, Ginny giving Dean a shy smile and Ron staring at Dean with suspicion. Dean didn’t know where to look, so he just shuffled uncomfortably in his seat, glancing between the pair of them. 

“They continue to avoid me because they think I’m weird, if that’s what you mean,” Luna replied, completely ignoring the unspoken politics occurring in the carriage. “But I don’t mind being ‘weird,’ as they call it, because it just means that I think differently. And Daddy says that thinking differently is a good thing. He says it means you sometimes get to notice extra things that other people miss.”

“Like what?” Harry asked.

“Like the fact that Goyle slipped something into your bag when they were in here.”

Everyone’s attention was now on the bag in question, and Harry immediately made a grab for it, rummaging through to find whatever Malfoy had decided to plant on him. _Probably something I’m not supposed to have that I’m going to get searched for at Hogwarts_ , Harry thought to himself.

“Harry, no!” Hermione yelled, grabbing his shoulder. “You don’t know what…” 

But her gesture was too late. 

“Ouch!” Harry withdrew his hand from the bag. “Something’s bit me.” He held his hand up for them all to see. A bloody half-moon of pin-pricks had begun to well up across his palm.

Hermione stood up and drew her wand. “Empty your bag on the floor, Harry. Wait! I think we should all stand on the seats… just to be on the safe side.”

The eight of them balanced precariously in the small standing space, holding onto the luggage rack for support, and as Harry held the bag at arm’s length and shook it, they saw what looked like a lobster land and begin to scuttle away. Only this one was grey with deep-green spots.

“ _Stupefy_!” Hermione yelled, and the creature stilled.

“What on earth is _that_?” Ron asked as he jumped down and peered at the stupefied invertebrate, poking it tentatively with his shoe.

“Do you _ever_ pay attention in class?” Hermione asked haughtily. “Harry, _you_ know, don’t you?” She turned to Harry expectantly, but he merely shook his head blankly.

“It’s a Mackled Malaclaw,” she answered for him, waiting for recognition to light in their eyes. Only Luna seemed to acknowledge the name, and she turned to study Harry with interest. 

“Is it poisonous? Am I going to break out in seeping warts, or something?” Harry asked nervously.

“No, but it will make you unlucky for a few days…”

“Unlucky! What do you mean?” As he stepped down from the seat, Harry’s ankle gave way, and he fell to the floor, crushing his glasses in the process. Seamus unsuccessfully tried to stifle a laugh at this, snorting in the process.

“I think you should go straight to Madame Pomfrey when we get to Hogwarts,” Hermione insisted. "She might be able to give you an antidote.”

When the train arrived in Hogsmeade, they gave the stupefied Malaclaw to Hagrid before going up to the castle. Hermione made a point of escorting Harry to the hospital wing, just to make sure he got there in one piece. So far, he had managed to tear a huge rip in his robes, have a couple of hundred pages come loose from his potions text, walk into two doors, and break his glasses on no fewer than three more occasions—when the others had started playing Exploding Snap on the train he had absolutely refused to join in. After hearing what had bitten Harry, Madam Pomfrey had responded with a hearty, “you’re in luck!” and Harry winced at her choice of words. She then bustled off to an adjoining room and returned holding a small blue vial. 

“I’ve only got one bottle left,” she explained. “It takes two weeks to prepare, so people usually just have to live with the bad luck.”

She removed the stopper and handed the vial to Harry. He took it and moved to drink the liquid, but the vial slipped through his fingers, smashing onto the floor.

“Oh, dear. Looks like you’ll need to be careful for the next few days,” she sympathised. “Not to worry, though—it will have worn off by the weekend.”

“This isn’t fair!” Harry sulked.

If nothing else, the first week back at Hogwarts was a memorable one for Harry. Much to his annoyance, he had become a frequent visitor to the hospital wing, thanks to his increased clumsiness. He had become quite adept at a selection of repair charms and cleaning charms—he needed the latter as he seemed to have problems getting food into his mouth and not down his front. All week he kept reminding himself of his first week back last year: detentions from Umbridge, not knowing where Hagrid was, everyone assuming he was a loony, and missing the Quidditch try-outs. At least things weren’t that bad. But to his dismay, he succeeded in causing a disruption in every class—the worst experience being Potions. Nobody wanted to be paired with him in any of the classes. Everyone had heard about the Malaclaw, and even Ron and Hermione had taken to working together, without him. Luckily for everyone—other than Harry—practical work in Potions at N.E.W.T. level was no longer carried out in pairs.

Snape had begun the lesson with a lecture on how he expected only the best from his N.E.W.T. students, and anyone treating the lessons with the same apathy that they approached their O.W.L.s with would be out on their ears in an instant. Harry silently fumed as the Professor made a point of staring at him during this little speech. Professor Snape then proceeded to spend most of the lesson picking on Harry, obviously knowing about the Malaclaw bite. Hermione couldn’t stop herself from sticking up for him.

“But Harry’s been bitten by a Mackled Malaclaw, sir. You can’t expect him to…”

“So, he finally has a _genuine_ excuse for being so incompetent. It still doesn’t change the fact that he _is_ incompetent. Five points from Gryffindor, for speaking out of turn, Miss Granger.”

During that lesson, Harry, for his sins, couldn’t help biting back, and he ended up on the receiving end of a detention and thirty lost house points. Although twenty of those were taken after he had finally decided to keep his head down and keep quiet… 

They had been concocting a potion involving Carras root, a magical plant that was a key ingredient in warming tonics used in the hospital wing. But you had to be careful not to set it alight, or even get a spark close to it, and Snape made a point of glaring at Harry as he informed the class of this. Harry did not fail to lower himself to his teacher’s expectations by accidentally brushing the ends through the cauldron fire. He was surprised when the ends were only glowing rather than reacting with a bang as he thought they would. Snape bore down on him when the rancid smell of singed Carras root drifted through the classroom. At first, he assumed Snape was just overreacting for the excuse to pick on him when the professor magically sealed the glowing Carras. Snape then proceeded to lecture on the ‘fuse-like’ behaviour of the root, burning slowly until finally detonating. As the Professor spoke, the root exploded violently inside the magically sealed bubble, illustrating his point precisely and causing Harry to wince at his own clumsiness. 

By the time Friday evening arrived, Harry believed that his spate of bad luck had finally run out. That evening was the Gryffindor Quidditch try-outs. Their three Chasers had left at the end of last year, and with Ginny taking one of the places, they needed replacements for the other two. Harry grabbed his broom and jogged off down the corridors, looking forward to being able to fly again. But as he reached the bottom of the staircase that led to the entrance hall, he managed to trip up over an abandoned book. He tipped forward, his broom catching on a flagstone and propelling him into a somersault. He landed heavily, both feeling and hearing the broom give way with a loud, ‘CRACK!’ 

His Firebolt. The broom his godfather has given him was broken. He had assumed the Malaclaw bite had worn off, and he hadn’t bothered to take as much care with his broom as he should have. If only he hadn’t acted so hastily, then it wouldn’t have happened—just like last year: if he hadn’t acted so hastily—so rashly—back then… He could feel his eyes beginning to burn in fury.

“Harry?” Oliver Wood’s voice snapped him out of his lamentation for a moment. He tentatively raised himself to a sitting position, feeling his back twinge where bruises would undoubtedly appear later. His former teammate was coming towards him, wincing on every other step, which Harry attributed to his Quidditch injury.

It had been almost two years since Harry had last seen him. Oliver had filled out slightly since then, but he still appeared to have baby soft skin. His face was now more chiselled, and muscles resulting from his Quidditch training were evident. At the sight of Oliver, Harry felt his breath suddenly hitch, his heart begin to pound, and his palms become clammy; he swallowed in horror as he acknowledged that he found himself attracted to the man before him. It just had to be the Malaclaw bite, he told himself. He’d never felt this way before, except towards Cho when he first realised that he liked her. But why would bad luck affect him _so_ profoundly? He couldn’t understand it, but it _had_ to be; he couldn’t think of any other explanation. He didn’t _want_ to think of any other explanation.

Oliver held out a strong hand in order to help Harry up, and Harry couldn’t help noticing that Oliver’s skin felt pliant and warm, his grip firm.

“Are you okay, Harry?”

“No! I’ve broken my broom!” Harry spat out angrily, and Oliver instinctively took a step backwards. Realising that he was taking it out on Oliver, who didn’t deserve the outburst, Harry took a deep breath and carried on in a more restrained tone. “If you’re going down to the Quidditch pitch tell them I won’t be coming today. With my bad luck it won’t be safe, and I’m certainly not in any mood for Quidditch now.”

“Okay, but I can’t guarantee the others won’t skin you alive at breakfast tomorrow…” 

“I really don’t care at the moment.”

Harry returned to the common room, carrying the broom that was now in two pieces, looking ready to kill the first person he encountered. Hermione looked up in surprise as he entered. He merely showed her the broom, announced, “I’m going to bed,” and continued up to the dormitory, throwing himself down on his bed in frustration. 

He had no idea how long he laid there, going over events in his mind that weren’t going to bring back his broom, or his godfather. At some point he drifted off to sleep, and he awoke the next morning still in the previous day’s robes. His mood hadn’t improved, as he had had a rather disturbing dream featuring a cameo from none other than Oliver Wood. Harry only hoped that his first week back wasn’t an indication of how things would be progressing for the rest of the year.


	2. A Fresh Start

Harry found his luck dramatically improving over the next couple of days, and before long, his sixth year at Hogwarts became more settled.  He was still upset over having broken his broom, though, and his friends didn’t go out of their way to talk to him, not liking the way he snapped at people unnecessarily.  But he felt his touchy mood was more than justified, not only because of his broom, but also thanks to Occlumency lessons.

 

    He had been to see Professor Dumbledore at the end of the second week.  The conversation had been brief, but the headmaster had been completely honest with him.  Dumbledore believed the scar was a link that Voldemort could still abuse, and he admitted that he still felt uneasy around Harry because of this.  But with the destruction of the prophecy and the unsuccessful experience of trying to possess Harry when the boy was filled with his love for Sirius, Dumbledore was convinced that Voldemort had turned his attention elsewhere for now.  He then confirmed, much to Harry’s disgust, that Occlumency lessons were to be resumed with Professor Snape.  He had spoken extensively with Snape over the summer, and Snape had agreed.  Harry assumed that this was probably under excessive persuasion on Dumbledore’s part; there was no way Snape would have willingly volunteered.  Occlumency could’ve been worse, though.  To ensure that the lessons were fairly productive, rather than just descending into shouting matches, Remus Lupin was to be present for the first few lessons.  Harry took solace in the thought that at least the first Hogsmeade weekend was drawing near.  Until then, he just tried to stay out of any further trouble as best he could.

 

The day of their first visit to Hogsmeade was a clear, crisp October morning, and cheerful groups of students meandered down from the grounds of Hogwarts, chattering away as they made their way to the village.  Harry, Ron and Hermione walked down together and their conversation drifted from Harry’s frustrating Occlumency lessons to the cheerier subject of Quidditch.  

 

Harry had made a point of not missing a single practice since the first ‘incident’ of the term, and he had even gone so far as to squeeze in extra flying time on his own—anything to make up for having to use one of the school’s Cleansweeps.  As much as he wanted to spend time moaning about the prospect of having to fly against Malfoy—who would be using his Nimbus 2001—he knew it wasn’t really fair to Ron: Ron had never had the opportunity to fly anything better than a Cleansweep.  Harry resigned himself to the fact that he’d been spoilt with brooms ever since he’d started playing Quidditch, and he would now have to make do.  A small consolation was that, so far, he was finding it fairly easy to avoid Oliver Wood during these practices.  Harry felt slightly guilty about his own asocial behaviour, but he couldn’t help being relieved by their lack of encounters.  Although he hadn’t had any further dreams, he certainly didn’t want to tempt fate.

 

They wandered from shop to shop, buying essential supplies such as a large selection of sweets from Honeydukes, and they gradually filled their arms to capacity.  Throughout the day, Harry couldn’t help but notice the change in the usual selection of Hogwarts’ population that normally made it out to Hogsmeade.  On each occasion he had previously gone, there had always been a couple of teachers supervising the roaming student population, but this year, the contingent of teachers had more than doubled.  This, in itself, wasn’t entirely surprising given that Voldemort was still at large.  What piqued Harry’s interest the most was the notable absence of Draco Malfoy, along with a couple of the other Slytherins.  Harry mentioned this to Hermione and Ron when they had made it to their last stop for the day, the Three Broomsticks. 

 

“I’d like to know what Malfoy’s up to,” Hermione mused as she sipped on her butterbeer.  They were sitting in a corner of the dusty pub that was full of Hogwarts students.  Animated conversations filled the room with a constant murmur of noise; cloaks, scarves and gloves had been removed and piled up, as the students made the most of the warmth permeating throughout the cramped room.  The local populace seemed to be putting on a tolerant face towards all this chatter and movement, which was an intrusion to their usual daily lives.

 

 Ron dismissed Hermione and Harry’s curiosity with a wave of his hand.  “I think he’s just got a detention but has hushed it up.” 

 

“Ron!”  Hermione glared at Ron and she leant forward, speaking firmly as if to express the importance of what she was saying.  “What if he really _knows_ something?”

 

“You’re not still paranoid he’s going to try to set Harry up, are you?” Ron asked.

 

    “Not exactly, but…” Hermione took a deep breath before trying to explain her train of thought to Ron.  “Why would he miss an opportunity to go to Hogsmeade, unless he knows something bad is going to happen?  Perhaps that also explains why there are more teachers here.  They might know something is planned, and they want to keep us out of any trouble…”

 

“But if Malfoy isn’t here because he knows something’s going on… that implies we _won’t_ be able to stay out of it,” Harry acknowledged.

 

Realisation began to dawn on Ron and he tensed in his seat, subconsciously picking at a beer mat.  “So, er, do you think it would be a good idea to finish up and go back to Hogwarts?”

 

Hermione and Harry nodded.  They pulled their winter extras back on, quickly downing their drinks as they did so.  Bags were grabbed in haste, their sudden increase in noise and activity drawing attention from a couple of the tables nearby.  As they made their way across the room, winding between chairs and tables, Hermione suddenly stopped, causing the other two to plough into her.  

 

She turned her head back to the two boys and asked, “Can you smell that?”

 

Ron and Harry sniffed at the air and frowned.  The smell was distinctive, but at first, neither of them could put a name to the familiar rancid odour.

 

“It’s like… burning…” Harry began, tentatively.

 

“Carras root!” Ron finished for him, in a shout, remembering Harry’s chaotic Potions lesson at the beginning of term.

 

His raised voice could be heard throughout the pub, and a heavy silence momentarily descended upon the masses.  From this brief eerie vacuum came a flurry of activity and sound: chairs scraped back from tables; bags, coats and other personal items were rapidly collected together; and a tide of people pressed their way outside.   Moments after the last of them had exited, the building went up with a bang, expunging debris across the street.  At the sound of the explosion, Harry’s stomach sank in apprehension. He anxiously looked around at the people lining the street, trying to place all those that he remembered being inside.  No one made a move towards the wreckage, and he could only assume that this meant everyone had made it out to safety.  Faces were pale with shock, and a couple of the younger students were crying while Madam Rosmerta attempted to fuss over them, even though she was in tears herself.  To Harry’s relief, it seemed that no one had been physically hurt, but he knew it had been a near miss.  The emotion at the forefront of Harry’s mind, other than relief, was anger; anger that Draco Malfoy had known about it.  Malfoy could’ve done something, could’ve prevented it, but the Slytherin didn’t seem to give a damn about anyone other than himself.

 

Over the next few days, nobody within the school seemed to talk about anything else.  The fact that no one had been injured helped the students to distance themselves from the real seriousness of what could’ve happened, but ‘You-Know-Who’ was still brought up in many conversations.  No one seemed eager for the next trip to Hogsmeade, either.  

 

But as it turned out, the next trip was no longer an issue: all future Hogsmeade weekends had been cancelled until further notice.  As an alternative, the members of staff were arranging a ball for the third years and above.  Harry and Ron had grimaced at the memory of the last ball, and both had complained loudly.  Harry couldn’t completely understand Ron’s reaction.  Ron half admitted that, once he built up the required courage, he would be asking Hermione.  Ron had someone to take to the ball; Harry had no one, and he certainly didn’t enjoy the prospect of feeling pressured into taking someone, anyone, just for the sake of it.  And if he did go by himself, he wouldn’t be able to hang around Ron and Hermione; he’d just be in the way.  Harry couldn’t stop himself from feeling jealous.  Although he thought it was about time Hermione and Ron admitted their feelings to each other, Harry didn’t want to think about what it would mean for him.  Would they still have time for him?  Would their friendship with him remain the same?

 

     Gradually, the Hogsmeade gossip began to die down—being replaced by the initial stirrings of ball-related conversations.  Harry, much to his discomfort, was continually being questioned who he was going to take to the ball.  He couldn’t think of anyone he wanted to take as a ‘date’.  No one appealed to him, and everyone who showed an interest had an almost Colin Creevey-like admiration for him, being The Boy Who Lived.  He wanted to go with someone who was interested in being with _him_ and spending time with _him,_ but they were only keen to go with Harry because he was famous.  And of course, being so well known, it seemed that _everyone_ thought it was their business as much as his.  He hated the questions from so many people, all asking the same annoying thing.  So, even though his anger at breaking his Firebolt had eventually subsided, Harry was still walking around in a foul mood, fed up with how frequently the subject of the ball was broached.  

 

Adding Occlumency lessons on top of all this, Harry decided, was not good for the soul.  Now that it had been established that he and Professor Snape would not be liable to kill each other when left alone, Lupin was no longer in attendance.  The Potions teacher had thoroughly resented having to teach such a subject in front of an audience, especially a Harry-biased audience.  Once Lupin was out of the picture, Harry found Snape’s dictatorial sadism came out in full flow.  But Harry was determined to not let Dumbledore down this time, and so he persevered, putting up with whatever Snape decided to throw at him.  

 

An encounter with Malfoy, after one of these lessons, was just the icing on the cake.

 

“I hear you and your lackeys saved the day at Hogsmeade, Potter.”  Malfoy’s smug voice echoed down the corridor.  “How _would_ the wizarding world survive without you forever coming to its rescue?”

 

 “Couldn’t help noticing your absence, Malfoy.”  Harry stiffened and glanced at the Slytherin’s accompanying bodyguards, Crabbe and Goyle.  “Or that of your hired cronies.”

 

They glared back menacingly, and he hoped that, if a fight was about to take place, Malfoy wouldn’t pull anything sneaky.

 

“You wouldn’t be implying that I knew anything about it, would you?”  Malfoy asked, pulling a face of mock innocence.

 

Even though he knew he shouldn’t expect any better, Harry couldn’t help feeling dismayed by Malfoy’s lack of consideration for those who may have been hurt.  “I can’t believe that you don’t care at all about what happened.  There were so many people in there…”

 

“If they were anybody worth worrying about, they would’ve known not to be there,” Malfoy continued smugly, “It’s a pity _you_ made it out of the pub in time.  Perhaps I should’ve gone along just to delay you.  That would’ve been good news for my father, a little motivation for him to escape from Azkaban.  And he will get out, Potter.  Soon.  And I can’t wait to see you, Weasel, and that Mudblood suffer for what you did to him.  It’ll make what happened to your pathetic _dog_ father seem like a walk in the par—”

 

Harry had had enough.  He didn’t bother with his wand.  Rage wouldn’t help him cast spells, but it did help him rugby-tackle Draco Malfoy to the ground.  Crabbe and Goyle were too astonished to do anything at first; they both stood, mouths agape, as fists flew and as knees and feet both kicked and booted.

 

“What the devil is going on here?”  It was a crisp, Scottish accent that had punctuated the corridor and brought their altercation to a halt.  

 

Hearing Oliver Wood come towards them, Draco gave Harry one final push before standing up.  Malfoy turned to Wood, blood smeared across his face, hair tousled, fuming with anger. 

 

“I’m not explaining myself to the likes of you,” Draco drawled before storming off down towards the Slytherin common room with Crabbe and Goyle trailing after him.

 

“Well, Harry.  What was that all about?”  Oliver asked, concerned, looking at the cuts and bruises on Harry’s face.

 

“He said a few nasty things about Hermione and Ron, and… about Hogsmeade.”  Harry replied, rubbing at a place on his side where Malfoy’s shoe had left an imprint.

 

“So, you got into a fist-fight?”  Oliver had a look of incredulity upon his face.  Shaking his head, he continued.  “I think I know you, Harry, but every now and then you really surprise me.  I would never have expected you to initiate a punch-up!  Come on, we’d better get you to Madam Pomfrey.”  He placed a hand on Harry’s shoulder and began to lead him away.

 

“I wouldn’t have let him bait me like that, normally,” Harry explained, trying to ignore the welcome heat on his shoulder and stubbornly refusing to acknowledge the attraction he had felt earlier on in the term.

 

“So, what’s up tonight?”

 

“I’ve just had an extra lesson with Snape.  It’s left me feeling a little bit wound up.”

 

“I would think that having one-on-one lessons with Snape would send _anyone_ a little mad.”  Oliver squeezed his shoulder gently, and Harry tensed, hoping his discomfort at the physical contact wasn’t too obvious.  “Do you want to talk about it?”  

 

“Not really, I’ll probably only get angry.”

 

“So you just need something to take your mind off it… Okay, change of subject, then.  Who are you going to take to the ball?”

 

Harry wished then that he’d agreed to talk about Occlumency instead.  “Not you, as well!  Everyone keeps asking me that!”

 

“You shouldn’t be so surprised.  You’re a very attractive young man, Harry.”  Harry swallowed and felt his stomach flip.  Oliver continued.  “You should have your pick of the ladies at Hogwarts.”

 

 _Of course Oliver wouldn’t mean it in_ that _sense_ , Harry berated himself before regaining control over his vocal cords.  “But every one of them is more interested in my status as ‘The Boy Who Lived’ rather than who _I_ am.” 

 

“Look, Harry.”  Oliver stopped and turned to face him.  

 

As Oliver proceeded to explain to Harry why he should try and be a little less cynical, Harry couldn’t stop his mind wandering back into the familiar territory that he had not contemplated since the Malaclaw incident.  He had to admit, now, that he had nothing to blame these feelings on.  Weeks after his luck had changed, the feeling was still there.  He didn’t want to be attracted to Oliver Wood, but going by its reactions, his body didn’t seem to care what he wanted.  He wanted to talk it over with someone, but the thought of admitting it to anyone made him feel sick.  Harry felt confused and very much alone.

 

Two days later, the first Quidditch match of the season was upon them.  Oliver was to be referee.  Harry tried his best not to stare, but he couldn’t stop himself from assessing the man to try and work out what it was that had piqued his attention.  It was proving to be a bit of a distraction for Harry during the game, and he hoped nobody caught his frequent glances at Oliver.  Harry was also anxious about having to play on such a slow broom, and Malfoy didn’t help in this respect, making a point of out-flying him at every opportunity.  When the Snitch was finally sighted, it was inevitable that a role reversal of a certain match in the third year would occur.  Malfoy was so busy showing off that he initially missed it when Harry made a dive for the Snitch.  The Slytherin Seeker soon realised, though, and his swifter broom allowed him to easily overtake Harry and win the match.

 

Condolences came from all directions, even from an unexpected Slytherin, as Harry found out that lunchtime.

 

“Millicent says she overheard Malfoy bragging about a speed enhancing charm that he’s put on his broom,” Hermione informed those who were in the Quidditch-debunking session: namely the entire Gryffindor Quidditch team, along with Seamus, Dean, and Neville.  “She thinks he was using it to rub your nose in it, but I think he was just scared that you’d beat him on the Cleansweep!”

 

Harry nearly choked on his potato.  In his five years at Hogwarts, he had never known Millicent Bulstrode, a Slytherin, to be sociable with Gryffindors.  “Hermione, since when have you been talking to Millicent?”

 

“She’s in our Arithmancy lessons.  She’s been really nice this year,” Hermione replied casually.

 

Neville nodded in agreement, and he added, “The three of us have been working together.  She says she’s had enough of being snobby like the rest of the Slytherins.”

 

Harry frowned.  Why would she have a sudden change of heart?  He found it difficult to believe the reason would be as simple as that; after all, she was still a Slytherin.  She certainly hadn’t bothered to make conversation with Harry this term. In Harry’s mind, the only person less likely to change than Millicent was Malfoy.  But as if to back up what Hermione and Neville were saying, Millicent stopped on her way out of the hall to offer her commiserations to Harry.

 

“Pity about the match.  It would be nice for Slytherin to have a chance for the cup this year, but not like this.”

 

“Er… Yeah, thanks,” he mumbled, unsure how to react to her new face of amiability.

 

On their way up to the common room, several Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws also gave their opinions of the match.  They were all of the similar belief that Malfoy had done something with his broom; even with a Nimbus 2001, he shouldn’t have been able to catch up the lead that Harry had gotten on him.  It helped Harry to feel a bit better about the match, but not much.  Gryffindor had still lost.  

 

Luna then gave Harry and the other Gryffindors something else to think about.

 

“Have you heard the rumours about Voldemort?” A couple of people winced at the name, but the rest of them merely looked at her blankly.  She continued.  “I overhead Ernie Macmillan saying to Hannah Abbott that he’d heard from one of the Ravenclaw seventh-years…”

 

“Get on with it Luna!” Ron shouted out impatiently.  

 

She glared at him, stubbornly not saying anything further until Harry had apologised on Ron’s behalf.  She then related the latest gossip: Voldemort was supposed to be recruiting a number of new Death Eaters, and several of the Slytherins were expected to be leaving once they had been given the Dark Mark.

 

 The Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws soon moved on, and the remaining Gryffindors looked at each other in amazement.  Hermione was the first to comment.

 

“I don’t think that’ll really happen.  It would be far too obvious if they were pulled out of Hogwarts like that.”

 

Ron shrugged as they made their way up the staircase.  “I wouldn’t put it past someone like Malfoy to already have the Mark on his arm.”

 

“Ron, be realistic!” she chided.  “One of the teachers would notice!”

 

“Do you really think Voldemort would be recruiting his followers so young?” Harry asked, thinking about the mark on Professor Snape’s arm that couldn’t be concealed.  He felt he shouldn’t mention it, seeing as only he, Ron and Hermione knew of its existence. 

 

“Well, he’s got to bulk up his Death Eaters somehow.  Why not start on the young and impressionable?” suggested Dean.  “Those who don’t have enough brain cells to think for themselves; Malfoy would be an ideal candidate in that case!”

 

They all laughed, and to Harry’s dismay, the conversation turned to the ball.

 

“I’m taking Sophie Huntly, one of the fourth year Ravenclaws, and Neville’s been asked out by _Millicent_ ,” announced Seamus, jabbing a blushing Neville in the ribs.  “Do you know who you’re asking yet, Harry?”

 

“No!” Harry snapped.  “I still have no idea.  I’ll probably turn up on my own and attempt to drown my sorrows in non-alcoholic punch…”

 

“There’ll be no need for that.  I hear Harold Dingle has got another supply of firewhiskey.  It’s going to be smuggled into one of the punch bowls at the back of the hall.” 

 

 Seamus pulled a cheerful grin and Harry accepted that maybe the ball wouldn’t be _that_ bad.

 

 


	3. The Trouble With Dean

Ernie Macmillan didn’t make it to breakfast the following morning.  Though, none of the Gryffindors noticed this until the arrival of the Daily Prophet:

 

           ANOTHER RESPECTED AUROR KILLED IN RAID

In a raid on a suspected Death Eater hideout, Geoffrey Sebastian Macmillan was the latest casualty in the Ministry’s efforts to clamp down on the supporters of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named…

Without noticing was she was doing, Hermione ended up dragging the paper through Harry’s cereal as she looked over to the Hufflepuff table in search of Ernie.

 

“Hermione!”

 

“What?  Oh, sorry, Harry.  I just…  Look at this.”  She handed him the paper, and Ron leant towards him in an attempt to read over his shoulder.  “Ernie’s not here.  I wonder what’s going to happen to him now that he’s lost his father.”

 

Harry found his thoughts turning back to Sirius once more.  He still missed his godfather, and it was still painful to think of the day he died.  But at least it hadn’t been splashed across the front page; Harry had been privileged with a certain amount of privacy, something that he didn’t normally have the luxury of experiencing.  He wondered whether he’d be able to help when Ernie returned, whether he could be someone Ernie could talk to.  In the end, though, Harry decided against it.  What would he know?  He had only lost a godfather who he barely knew.  Ernie had lost his father.  And yes, Harry had lost his father, too, but it was a father Harry couldn’t remember at all.  He had no idea what Ernie must be feeling, he told himself, and he had no business getting involved.

 

Ernie arrived back at Hogwarts a couple of days later, very subdued and ashen-faced.  He hardly spoke, except to a few of his closer housemates, but the news of him and his mum moving in with his uncle, Errol Pleinius Maudrey, soon permeated the school.

 

“Maudrey?  I’ve never heard of that wizarding name before,” Hermione commented.

 

“They’re an old pureblood family, but they’re not well known,” Ron informed her, pleased that he was the one with the knowledge for a change.  “They tend to keep out of any trouble.  Well, they tend to keep out of anything at all.  When Voldemort first came to power, people often made a joke of comparing them to Switzerland in one of the Muggle world wars, but I guess that would mean more to you than it does to me…”

 

Hermione nodded with understanding, but much to Ron’s frustration, she didn’t go into any detail to enlighten him.  Harry couldn’t help smirking that Ron wasn’t brave enough to admit he didn’t know what it meant. 

 

As the date of the ball drew nearer, conversation about Ernie petered out, and once again, it became all too predictable for Harry.  He wasn’t even safe when studying in the library with Hermione and Ron.

 

“Do you know who you’re going to ask yet?”  Ron had been the fifth person to ask him that day.  

 

Hermione looked up from her Arithmancy text.  Normally she’d be chastising Ron for gossiping instead of doing his homework, but at this particular question, she looked expectantly at Harry.

 

“I’m not going to ask anyone,” Harry stubbornly kept his gaze on his own books, “I’ll be going by myself.”

 

“But… there must be someone…” Hermione insisted.

 

“There’s no one I know at Hogwarts that I like in that way.”  Harry tried to focus even more intently on the blur of words before him.  He knew, even before he had finished his sentence, that it was, technically, a lie.  But he would sooner face Voldemort at that moment than admit that he’d happily spend the evening in the company of Oliver Wood.  _It’s just typical of my life,_ Harry thought bitterly.  _Being as_ normal _as ever, I can only find a male member of the teaching faculty… inspiring…_ Fed up with feeling uncomfortable, he decided to redirect the conversation.   And in return for their inquisition, he fully intended to leave his friends feeling just as uncomfortable.  “So, who are you two asking?  Hermione?  Ron?”

 

Ron spluttered at this.  Harry knew full well that Ron _still_ hadn’t worked up the courage to ask Hermione yet.  Harry also knew that Hermione was waiting for Ron to hurry up and ask her.  So why wasn’t their mutual attraction screamingly obvious to them? 

 

“Come on, Hermione, you said who you wanted to go with was a secret.  We’re your friends; you’re supposed to tell us.”  Hermione blushed, and Harry continued.  “Are you actually going to ask him, or are you waiting to be asked?”

 

“I… I’m waiting, for the moment,” Hermione looked up at Harry with uncertainty in her eyes, “but I don’t know how much patience I have…”

 

“What about you, Ron?”  Ron glared at Harry.  “Have you asked anyone yet?”

 

“No, you know I haven’t, Harry.  Don’t be a git.”

 

“Well, I’m a tired ‘git’, and I’m off to bed.  ‘Night, you two.”  He gathered up his books and stood. 

 

“But Harry, we agreed to spend time studying tonight…” Hermione protested, looking up at him.

 

“I know, but I can’t stop yawning.  I don’t think I can concentrate anymore.  You two stay here; I’ll be okay.”

 

Hermione glanced down at her text, and Ron took the opportunity to pull another face at Harry, letting his friend know exactly how he felt.  In response to this, Harry couldn’t help but add one more snide comment before finally leaving.  

 

“Oh, Ron, about the ball, I wouldn’t take too long if I were you.  You never know, she might run out of patience and go with someone else…”

 

Ron was fuming and Hermione was blushing as Harry bounded out to the corridor with a huge grin on his face.  He didn’t manage to get far before being accosted, though.  Luna Lovegood cornered him at the end of the corridor, and she was also interested in who Harry was intending to take to the ball.  _Oh please don’t let Luna want to ask me to the ball…_ he thought.  Although, he suspected, if she did, she’d probably be the one person in the school not to be disgruntled at him turning her down.  After all, she never seemed to take offence at anything. 

 

“I’ve decided to go on my own,” he informed her.  “Although not everyone is willing to accept this…”

 

“Personally, I don’t blame you.”  Luna looked at him sympathetically.  “There is no one here I like so much that I’d be prepared to endure a couple of hours of ‘ball-torture’ with them.  I know I’m not popular, but people are still hassling me, and I’m fed up with it.  I don’t know how you cope, having the extra magnetism as The Boy Who Lived luring them to you in their hundreds…” She waggled her eyebrows at him.  He smiled and nodded at her keen, if somewhat exaggerated, observation.  

 

“So, neither you nor I want to go with anyone,” Luna continued.  “We’re both fed up with people asking us, although I suspect you have a better reason than I do…” Harry found the way she looked at him, as she said this, puzzling.  “Anyway, why don’t we just agree to go with each other, in the hope that it might shut everyone up?  We don’t have to spend any time together on the night.  What do you say?”

 

“Er… Okay,” Harry felt a bit taken aback by this seemingly benign opportunity.  Then, he shifted uncomfortably on his feet before asking.  “Um… what do you mean by me having ‘a better reason’?”  He couldn’t help but ask, although he felt that he wouldn’t like the answer.

 

“I’m not blind, although most people in this school appear to be.  I’ve caught you a couple of times, looking on in admiration at a certain ex-student.  Especially at the Quidditch match…”

 

Harry couldn’t restrain the look of guilt on his face as he struggled in vain for a way of denying it.  “I… I wasn’t…”

 

“Don’t you dare, Harry Potter!  I’m not that stupid,” she declared, grinning at Harry’s discomfort.  “And I won’t tell, either, so you can take that look of panic off your face.  Although, personally, I don’t see what the big deal is.”

 

“Well, you would say that, Luna!  You never seem to care for what people say about you.  Personally, I don’t enjoy the prospect of being the central topic of any more gossip than I already am...”

 

“I suppose you have to put up with a lot more than I do,” she conceded.  “Anyway, I have to go.  I’ve got to get to the library and take a book out before Pince closes up for the night.”  

 

Luna then waved at him and promptly walked back the way Harry had come.  He let out a sigh, feeling relieved that at least the issue of the ball had been settled.

 

On the way down to breakfast the next day, Ron and Hermione admitted to Harry that they would be going to the ball together.  He smirked at this and laughed at the dirty looks they threw at him.  Ron was less than impressed when Harry informed them of his date, and Hermione seemed to be seriously considering that there might be something going on between Harry and Luna.

 

“But Luna?  How could you even consider it?  She’s… weird,” Ron said in disgust around a mouthful of toast.

 

“She’s not that bad, Ron… and we’ve only agreed to do it to get everyone off our backs.”

 

Ron shook his head condescendingly at Harry.  “At times like these, I have to ask myself just how well I really know you!”

 

     Luckily for Harry, he only had to put up with Ron’s disbelief for another week before the ball was upon them.  It certainly proved to be gossip-worthy, unfortunately for some, and Harry was more than a little upset to see Ginny being dragged into the proceedings.  

 

Dean had asked Ginny to go with him, which was what everyone had expected since they had been dating for a few months now.  People were also expecting several drunken students, thanks to the spiked punch bowl at the back of the hall.  Harold Dingle was carefully guarding the punch, and he was taking ‘donations’ from all those who wanted to indulge.  What Harry wasn’t expecting to see was a distraught Ginny, bursting into tears and running from the hall.  

 

It had occurred during a brief conversation that Harry was sharing with Ron.  As expected, Ron and Hermione had been in their own unapproachable world all evening, but Ron had wandered over to say hello when Hermione went to the toilet.  When Ginny raced by, they exchanged a look and began to look round the hall for Dean.  He was soon spotted, leaning up against someone on the back wall; he was obviously quite drunk, and he kept stumbling from one foot to the other in a bid to keep upright.  Ron’s eyes narrowed, and he stormed off towards them with Harry trailing after.  As they came closer, they had another surprise.  The person, who Dean was fully pressed up against, including his lips, turned out to be an even more intoxicated Seamus.  Dean was evidently having so much trouble with his own balance because he was busy trying to keep the both of them upright.  Ron pulled Dean and Seamus apart and promptly hit Dean in the face.

 

“What the hell do you think you are doing to my sister?”  Ron asked in a rage, moving back a couple of steps to take a swing at Seamus—who by now had sunk to the floor—but at that point several members of staff intervened, and the ball was called to an abrupt end.

 

Back in their dormitory, Ron was furious.  He had no one to vent his anger on, as both Dean and Seamus had been sent to the hospital wing.

 

“How the hell could he _do_ that to Ginny?  Either of them!  And… ugh!  That was just so gross.  They sleep in our _dorm_ , Harry…”

 

Harry was sitting, mutely, on the edge of his own bed, listening to Ron rant, and watching him pace back and forth.

 

“They’re both male… ugh… that’s just abnormal…”

 

Inside, Harry felt completely quashed.  If he had ever wanted to talk to his friends about the confusion he felt towards Oliver Wood, it was now.  But that was suddenly no longer an option; Ron would just assume that he was trying to defend Dean, and Harry certainly didn’t think Dean needed defending.  As far as Harry was concerned, Dean’s encounter with Ron’s fist was well deserved.  How could Dean do that when he was going out with Ginny? 

 

But over the next couple of weeks, Harry couldn’t help feeling a bit sorry for Dean.  Seamus had managed to pass all the blame onto him.  This was due to the extent of Seamus’ intoxicated state and the fact that he did seem genuinely horrified the next day, when someone informed him of events he claimed to have no memory of.  Seamus spent a lot of time loudly telling others how much Dean had betrayed their friendship, especially when Dean was within earshot.  Not only was Dean suitably squashed for cheating on Ginny, but he also received a barrage of insults concerning his choice of gender.  Now, any talk of sexuality amongst students of Hogwarts was interminably negative towards that persuasion.  Some people were more outspoken on the subject than others, and not all participated, Harry included.  Yet again, he was hiding something from Ron and Hermione, something Ron definitely thought was wrong and Hermione seemingly never wanted to discuss.

 

Harry had had enough.  He decided that he really needed to talk to someone, someone who wouldn’t leave him feeling like he was an outcast waiting to happen, which was exactly how he felt at the moment.  Before, he would have gone to Sirius about something like this…  In the absence of his godfather, Harry opted for the next best thing: his godfather’s friend, Remus Lupin.  Harry believed it was at least worth broaching the subject and finding out the Professor’s opinion of Dean first.  And so he went up to Lupin’s office after dinner one evening where he found the man marking homework.

 

“Er, Professor…” Harry stepped uneasily into the room.

 

“Hello, Harry,” Professor Lupin said, smiling warmly as he looked up from his desk.

 

“I was wondering if I may talk to you about something… If this is a bad time,” Harry nodded towards the paperwork on the desk, “I could come back later…”

 

“No, no, now is fine. This doesn’t have to be finished for another three days.”  The Professor sat back from his work and gave Harry his full attention.  “What can I help you with? This week’s assignment?”

 

“No, it’s… personal.  But I don’t want to put you behind with your work... I’ll come back another time.”

 

“You won’t put me behind, Harry,” Lupin insisted, motioning for Harry to take a seat.  “What’s on your mind?”

 

“I don’t know if you’ve heard any of the rumours, but Dean’s been getting a lot of hassle lately…” Harry trailed off, waiting to find out how much Remus knew.

 

“Ah, yes.  The man who upset the proverbial ‘Weasley apple cart’.”

 

“Yes.  But it’s not just that he cheated on Ginny.  It’s also because he cheated on her with _Seamus_.”

 

“Seamus?”  Lupin raised his eyebrows in an amused fashion.  “I guess I’ve missed out on some of the gossip.  I must say he’s a bit silly to ‘out’ himself like that.  It’s not a very nice way of drawing attention to it.”  He studied Harry for a moment before continuing.  “I’d guess that he’s also inadvertently made it harder on some of the other students, as well.”

 

“So you don’t think that side of it is abnormal?”  Harry asked, needing confirmation that his feelings weren’t fundamentally wrong.

 

“Absolutely not!”  Lupin looked at Harry fondly.  “Just because it might not be the topic of everyday conversation doesn’t mean that same-sex relationships don’t happen, or that they shouldn’t exist.”

 

Harry looked at him with a carefully composed neutral expression and nodded.  He wanted to tell Remus everything, wanted to just pour it all out, but it was just so hard to start talking.  Where would he begin?  What if Remus thought that Harry had a crush on him?  Just as Harry resigned himself that what had been said so far would have to do, Professor Lupin continued.

 

“Harry, if you can’t talk to your friends because of all this… you do know you _can_ talk to me, don’t you?”

 

Harry felt relief wash through him.  “Thank you, sir.  I… I…” Harry grappled for a way to let it all out.  “I’ve wanted to talk about this for _ages_.  After the Malaclaw bit me, I just assumed I was attracted to… to someone because it had something to do with my bad luck!  Then, after it had worn off and I still liked them, I realised that it wasn’t.  Then, with the ball, everyone was hassling me, either wanting to go with me or wanting to know who I was planning to ask…” he trailed off.

 

“And you couldn’t say that the person you wanted to go with was male?”

 

“Sort of...”

 

Remus creased his brows at this and smiled.  “Sort of?  Now you’ve piqued my curiosity.”

 

Harry mentally kicked himself for not having just said ‘yes.’  “He… I… He wasn’t someone who I could ask.  I mean, I found him attractive, but it’s not exactly feasible, he’s a bit older and he’s like a te… And I think he’s straight, anyway, and it’s only ever been a crush… I hated it at first, but now I think it’s just… opened up the possibilities for me…” More mental damnation sounded around Harry’s head, this time for waffling.  Harry looked up and found Remus chuckling.

 

“So, you’ve begun to see Oliver Wood in a new light?”  Harry’s blush readily gave the answer away to Remus’s question.  “Don’t worry, Harry.  I certainly won’t betray your confidence, and I can appreciate the difference between affection and attraction.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Well, we all feel attraction to others, in one way or another.  It’s in our genes: an inbuilt survival chip for propagation of the next generation, if you like.  You’re attracted to Oliver’s physical features even though, since he’s returned, you haven’t spent any time getting to know the rest of him.  It’s normal, as long as you don’t let yourself get carried away by it.  Don’t be afraid of attraction, Harry; you don’t have to act on it.  As for affection… well, that comes from _knowing_ another person, and when you feel it, don’t ever let others stop you from having it.”

 

“So you don’t think I’m a freak?”

 

“Being a werewolf, I think it would be a bit hypocritical of me to label you as a freak,” Lupin replied.  “I don’t think it’s that unusual to want to explore the possibilities of being attracted to your own gender.”

 

     “Er… thank-you, sir.”  Harry stammered, trying to take in all that had been said to him.  He made a quick exit and wandered back towards the common room.

 

As he walked, he began to think over what Remus had said.  Harry certainly felt less afraid of his being attracted to a man, but whether he’d ever get over his embarrassment enough to tell any of his close friends was a different matter.  Maybe he wouldn’t have to, he hoped; perhaps the next person he felt attracted to would be a girl.  Harry wondered whether this was what the Professor was trying to imply: what he felt now was attraction because Oliver was a man, and when he felt the same towards a girl then it would be affection.  But this didn’t quite seem to make sense to Harry, and he was sure it couldn’t be right: Remus couldn’t have meant that.  All these thoughts led to other questions in Harry’s mind.  How did Professor Lupin know all of this?  Was there someone who Remus felt affection for?  Another man, perhaps?  Was that why there’d never been a mention of a Mrs Lupin?  Harry began to consider all the men that Remus had seemed close to.  His steps suddenly slowed to a halt as he realised Sirius appeared to be the main candidate, and Harry put an abrupt end to that train of thought.  If his assumption was correct, he wouldn’t mind, but it did make him feel uncomfortable.  He decided it would be more constructive to be thinking about his own love life rather than jumping to conclusions about Professor Lupin’s, or that of his godfather.  



	4. Absences and Appearances

The end of term had arrived, and Harry now sat in the common room, waiting with his trunk at his feet—both he and Hermione had been invited to The Burrow for Christmas.  Hedwig was on the table and hooting at him with disgust, making it clear that she didn’t appreciate being back in her cage.  While he was waiting, he toyed with the idea of confiding in Hermione about his crush on Oliver Wood.  He came to the conclusion, however, that he probably wouldn’t have the opportunity to talk to her without Ron being present; the two seemed to be joined at the hip lately.  He wondered whether he just wanted to confide in her now in order to regain the closeness of their friendship.  Even his friendship with Ron had become more distant since the ball.  Harry was also aware that Oliver was due to return to Puddlemere after Christmas to begin training.  With the source of his distraction going, he hoped that his being attracted to a man would now stop playing on his mind.  He was brought out of his meanderings by the sound of someone walking down the stairs from the girls’ dormitory.  It was Hermione, carrying her trunk and a bag full of books, with Crookshanks following behind.

 

“Ron was worried that you’re going to spend all your time reading, and now I can see why!” he snickered, half-hoping that she would be, so that he and Ron could spend some time together without Harry feeling like an intruder.

 

“I know… He asked me if I planned to spend any time interacting with the outside world!  But as I said to him, these are only for reference,” Hermione replied, as she heaved the unwieldy bag onto the table with a thud.  “Where is Ron?  I would’ve thought he’d be ready to go.”

 

“He’s gone to the Owlery; Pig didn’t fly up to the dorm with Hedwig this morning.”

 

As if on cue, Ron chose that moment to burst into the common room, evidently upset, proclaiming that he couldn’t find Pig.  Harry knew that, despite the frequent complaints about Pig’s irritating behaviour, Ron had become very fond of the tiny owl.  Harry suspected the seemingly dizzy owl was cleverer than it let on; it was always whizzing round and annoying Ron whenever he needed to be distracted from unimportant things.  He could see no reason for Pig’s absence that morning, and he thought Ron was right to be worried.  But if they didn’t get a move on, they’d risk missing the train.  

 

“I’ll let Hedwig out,” Harry suggested, receiving an appreciative hoot from the direction of the table.  “She can look for Pig and bring him back to the Burrow.”

 

     “You’d better get your trunk, Ron.  It’s time to go,” Hermione said, giving him a reassuring hug before adding, “I’m sure he’ll be all right.”

 

     But to Ron’s dismay, Hedwig arrived at The Burrow later that day, alone, and it seemed that even she was agitated by Pig’s disappearance.

     

     Harry found he had been right in assuming there’d be no chance to speak to Hermione alone.  He resigned himself to the fact that this part of himself, his attraction to Oliver, would end up filed with all the other little bits and pieces that he never told his friends.  Thinking of all these things that had passed by unsaid for one reason or another only helped him feel even more cut off from Hermione and Ron.  If it wasn’t for Pig’s disappearance, Harry was quite sure that Ron and Hermione would be spending a lot more time alone than they were.  As it was, Ron wasn’t the best of company, anyway.  To stop himself from stewing any further, Harry did his best to help Hermione take Ron’s mind off of Pig.    

 

But not everyone was showing the same concern for Ron’s feelings.  Fred and George had come home to join in the celebrations, and much to Ron’s annoyance, they made it their task to come up with as many gruesome suggestions as possible concerning what had occurred to Pig.  These included being injured and dying painfully slowly, all alone, being savaged by another animal, and being stolen and used in some magic ritual—they were very keen to point out that elf owls were very popular in this last respect.  When Ron became positively distraught, it only encouraged them.  Mrs Weasley was not impressed, and she relegated them to clearing the snow outside until they agreed to stop speculating about it in front of Ron.

 

On the day before Christmas, Pig still hadn’t appeared.  But Ron was successfully distracted for a while by a small article in _The Daily Prophet_ that had attracted Hermione’s attention.  Squeezed into a corner of the third page was a report on a burglary that was, according to the paper, probably the work of Death Eaters.  The burglary had occurred at a warehouse of a major supplier of magical herbs.  The odd thing about the article was there was no mention of what had been stolen, and when they asked Mr Weasley, he had refused to tell them.  He explained that the Ministry didn’t want people to panic unnecessarily.  The Ministry hadn’t released all the details to _The Daily Prophet,_ believing that the media would undoubtedly make a drama out of it.  Knowing this only served to arouse their curiosity further.

 

Christmas day arrived with the entire family wearing matching jumpers.  Mrs Weasley’s looked slightly bedraggled, as Mr Weasley had insisted on making her one the Muggle way.  Presents were exchanged and copious amounts of food were consumed amongst a cheerful atmosphere.  Ron had finally forgiven Fred and George for winding him up about Pig—even though they had enchanted some mistletoe to persistently hover over him and Hermione, causing the pair of them to blush profusely.  Harry found this very amusing, although he had to admit to feeling slightly jealous at their closeness: Ron and Hermione now shared something extra, something special.  He wondered whether he would ever be in a relationship like that, but he found it hard to imagine; how could he possibly get that close to someone after all he’d been through?  How could he share himself with another person, knowing what had been prophesised for him for the future?

 

     Four days before they were due to return, they received an impromptu visit from Professor Dumbledore.  The Death Eaters in Azkaban had escaped, including Lucius Malfoy, and Dumbledore thought it would be best for Harry to return to Hogwarts at once.  Harry expected that Ron and Hermione would insist on going with him, but they had said nothing, giving Harry got the impression that they were looking forward to time alone without him cramping their style.  In the end it had been Dumbledore who suggested it.  Although they had looked happy enough at returning early, Harry was a little bit miffed that they had to be prompted in the first place.  

 

Now that Lucius Malfoy had escaped, Harry figured that Draco Malfoy was going to be insufferable when he returned.  There would be a good deal of bragging, at the very least, with probably a few death threats mixed in.  He wondered whether Draco would now have some real ammunition, courtesy of his father.  Would he be helping out Lucius in his father’s personal vendetta?  Harry also worried about Voldemort’s plans, hoping this didn’t mean Voldemort was going to intensify his attacks on the wizarding community in the near future.   

 

Once they had returned to Hogwarts, they ate their lunch in the Great Hall while debating whether the burglary they read about in _The Daily Prophet_ might have had a connection to the breakout from Azkaban.  All of a sudden, Harry felt a flash of pain through his scar, followed by a burning sensation.  He brought his hand swiftly to his forehead and pressed hard, trying to numb the pain.  Hermione stopped eating and looked up, concerned.

 

“Are you okay, Harry?”

 

“Scar,” Harry muttered before turning to Ron.  “Do you remember last year, when I could tell that Voldemort was angry with Avery?”  Ron nodded.  “Well, it feels the same now.”

 

“Why would he be angry?  I would’ve thought he’d be ecstatic that his Death Eaters have escaped,” Ron pointed out.

 

“I don’t understand, either,” Harry agreed.  “I don’t know what’s upset him.  But it doesn’t feel… right.”  Harry felt it was as if Voldemort had been angry about something for a while and had only just reacted to it.  He was about to say as much when a wave of pleasure flooded through his scar, going straight to his groin.  

 

Harry shifted uncomfortably in his seat, not wanting to let his friends in on his unwelcome reaction.  He was mortified.  Whatever Voldemort was doing, he seemed to have worked off his anger, and it wasn't in a way that Harry had ever experienced through the scar before.  He could he tell—very clearly—what type of activity Voldemort was currently engaged in, and Harry couldn’t restrain his own response.  Was this a new development of their connection, or was this the first time Voldemort had ‘enjoyed’ himself since he had risen again?  He really didn’t want to be thinking about this type of thing: wondering about Voldemort’s sex life.  He certainly hoped Voldemort didn’t plan on making it a frequent occurrence; having to go through this traumatic experience once was more than enough for Harry.  Any more and he’d be a permanent resident at St. Mungo’s.  Harry also cringed to think that yet another erection was due to someone male—and someone far less appealing than Oliver Wood—while simultaneously trying not to bring his breakfast back up in disgust and also hiding this new development from Ron and Hermione.  He knew that, from now on, he’d no longer have any problems finding the motivation to try harder at Occlumency. 

 

To Harry’s relief, his physical reaction was startled out of his system when a small, half-fluffy, half-bald projectile landed in Ron’s cornflakes.

 

“Pig!” Ron yelled, but his pleasure at having his owl returned was soon mixed with concern over the state of his pet.  It looked as if someone had been plucking the little owl, and there were several patches of weeping, inflamed skin in the balder areas.

 

“Come on, Ron,” Hermione prompted, grabbing his elbow.  “Let’s take him to Hagrid.  He’ll know what to do.”

 

They abandoned their half-empty plates and practically ran towards Hagrid’s hut, with Ron cradling Pig in a corner of his robes.  Hagrid had looked slightly shocked at first when Ron gently handed over the injured bird, and Ron began to fret that Hagrid wouldn’t be able to help.  But after gently checking the little bird over, Hagrid told them he was confident Pig would make a full recovery.

 

“Looks like someone’s bin an’ helped themselves to most of his feathers.  Don’ look like no animal attack, they’ve bin too cleanly plucked, they have.  Poor little blighter.  Now, don’ yeh go worryin’ yerselves, I’ll take care of him, an’ he’ll be as righ’ as rain in a couple a weeks.  Has any of yeh mentioned this to Professor Dumbledore?”

 

“I told my dad when he first went missing, but we came straight to you as soon as he turned up,” Ron explained.

 

“Well, I’ve a feeling tha’ the headmaster would wan’ ter know abou’ summat like this.  I’m goin’ ter see him meself, later on today, so I’ll mention it ter him fer yeh.”

 

Just as they were about to make their way back to the castle, Hermione stopped and turned back to face Hagrid.

 

“Hagrid, there was a burglary over Christmas.  It was mentioned in _The Daily Prophet_.  Do you know what was stolen?”  

 

“Wha’ was stolen?”  Hagrid was a bit flustered as he repeated her question to himself and tucked Pig into what looked like a shoebox lined with cotton wool.  “An’ wha’ would yeh three be wantin’ with tha’ information, then?”

 

“We’re just curious, that’s all.  It seems odd that it wasn’t mentioned in the paper.  Does it have anything to do with Voldemort?”

 

“Now, don’ yeh go worryin’ yehselves abou’ it.”  Hagrid pulled his coat on and stood by the door.  “Come on, I’ve gotta take Fang fer a walk and get a few things fer Pig.  Now, no more pryin’ into what doesn’ concern yer.”

 

During the last couple of days before term started, Hermione spent her free time researching the use of elf owl feathers in the hope of understanding why Pig was stolen.  She soon admitted defeat after realising that she had already listed at least a hundred different potions and hadn’t even begun to look into different types of rituals.  She had started the research alone, in case she found anything that would upset Ron, and Harry knew this would’ve made an ideal time to talk to her, but he no longer had any desire to discuss his attraction to Oliver Wood with anyone.  Instead, he spent his time playing chess with Ron.  Ron avoided the subject of him and Hermione dating, and he only wanted to talk about Pig.  So Harry just let Ron ramble on, as he wondered at the way things seemed to be changing between them.  Ron’s world revolved around Hermione now, and he didn’t feel it was his place to discuss the relationship with Harry; Ron had said that it would be too much like betraying her trust.  Also—because of dating Hermione, Harry assumed—Ron didn’t show as much of an interest in Harry’s life as he used to.  As a result, they had very little to talk about that could reinforce their weakening friendship.

 

Once the term had begun, Harry soon settled back into lessons and was bewildered by the sudden lack of venom coming from Draco Malfoy’s direction.  He just seemed to be avoiding all three of them now.  Whenever they passed in the corridors or had class together, Malfoy refused to even look in their direction, putting up a tight-lipped façade.  Harry was stumped.  Last term, Malfoy had been his predictable self, going out of his way to make life difficult for Harry and never missing an opportunity to throw in a scathing remark.  Now, Harry could almost believe it was someone using Polyjuice Potion to impersonate Malfoy.

 

“Maybe Azkaban has sent Lucius Malfoy mad and he actually wants his son to play nice!” Ron joked one evening in the common room.  He was really pleased with the change in attitude, and he took every opening he could to have a dig, just to see how far Malfoy could be pushed.  So far, it had only descended to minor verbal sparring each time before Malfoy made a quick exit.  Ron reasoned that Malfoy had it coming to him, but Harry couldn’t bring himself to join in, feeling that it seemed just a little bit petty.

 

“I can’t ever imagine Malfoy agreeing to be nice to us!” Hermione pointed out.  “But it is weird.  He doesn’t even seem to be hanging around with any of the other Slytherins as much as he used to.  It’s almost like he doesn’t know who to trust anymore.”

 

“Yeah,” Harry agreed, welcoming the break from studying, even if it was to talk about Malfoy.  “He’s becoming a bit of a loner—he doesn’t even have his lap-dogs fawning over him anymore.  Now that _must_ be denting his ego!”

 

“Millicent seems to think his father’s got him involved in some scheme to cause trouble at Hogwarts,” Hermione informed them as she put the finishing touches to her homework.  “Perhaps he needs to keep himself to himself in order to carry it out.  Harry, I’d try not to become too complacent at his lack of nastiness if I were you.  That might be just what he’s waiting for.”

 

“Perhaps all of the Slytherins are coming down with some illness…” Ron began, with mock seriousness.  “After all, Millicent has already turned over a new leaf this year.  I bet Malfoy just wants to be buddies with everyone, like she is, but he can’t bring himself to pull it off!”  

 

Harry and Ron both chuckled at the image of Malfoy wanting to be friendly like Millicent, and Harry felt a rush of warmth at the shared joke.  

 

Ron then turned his attention back to Hermione.  He was giving her puppy dog eyes, evidently hoping that she’d help him with his homework—Hermione had been letting Ron get away with more than usual since the ball, and she was more willing to help him out with schoolwork now.  Previously, Harry had always been Ron’s first port of call; they tried to work it out together before pestering Hermione in unison.  Ron never bothered to ask for Harry’s help anymore, he didn’t have to; he didn’t need Harry.  And this even extended to Quidditch conversations.  Any time Ron spent discussing Quidditch was usually with the Hufflepuff Keeper, Wayne Hopkins, going over Keeper tactics.  Harry wasn’t welcome for these sessions.  Ron had made a pact with Wayne: they wouldn’t let anyone else in their teams know about each other’s tactics.  They reasoned that, with them both being Keepers, they wouldn’t have an influence over the way each other played.  Even though they were due to play each other in February, Ron was adamant that it wouldn’t be a problem.  “Don’t worry, you can trust a Hufflepuff!” he had asserted.

 

So Harry’s attention began to drift elsewhere, and he found himself wondering about the change in Malfoy.  Malfoy’s unexpected behaviour had even continued in Potions lessons, with him not only keeping out of any Gryffindor-baiting, but also acting warily around Professor Snape.  During the class, Harry noticed Professor Snape watching Malfoy at regular intervals, but he couldn’t tell what emotion those stern glances held.  Did Snape know about Malfoy’s scheme?  Unfortunately, all this extra interest that Snape showed in Malfoy didn’t prevent Snape from picking on Harry with all the usual scorn he could muster.  With Harry’s curiosity sufficiently piqued, he decided to speak with Malfoy, but he knew it would have to be done on his own.  He didn’t rate his chances of getting any information out of Malfoy as it was, and if Hermione and Ron were with him, they definitely wouldn’t get anywhere.  Harry wanted to know what Malfoy was up to, whether it was all just a ruse in order to cause more trouble in the long-term.  If Millicent was right, Harry was sure that, when he had the chance to pin Malfoy down, he would be bound to let something slip.  Even though he seemed to be good at keeping his cool, Harry was hopeful that Malfoy’s overconfidence and arrogance would cause him to brag about something he shouldn’t.  

 

After their second Potions lesson of the term, Harry told Hermione and Ron that he had to speak to Professor Snape about Occlumency lessons.  He watched them leave and then silently followed Draco Malfoy down the corridor.  When no one else was nearby, Harry made his presence known.

 

“What’s with the change?” he asked when he was a few feet behind Malfoy, carefully keeping his tone neutral and enjoying the feeling of having startled him.  “I thought you’d be rubbing my nose in it, now that your father’s escaped.”  

 

Malfoy stopped walking and spun around, glaring at him, but with less force than usual.  

 

“What are you talking about, Potter?”

 

“You’ve changed since you went home at Christmas.  I’m assuming that it’s got something to do with your father getting out of Azkaban.  Is he finding life a little awkward, having to hide from the Ministry?  Or has he made some sort of deal with them?”

 

“Stay out of it.  This is none of your business!” Malfoy growled before turning away and marching off down the corridor briskly, making it clear Harry was _not_ welcome to follow.

 

Harry accepted that he wouldn’t get any information today, but he was determined to find out what was going on.  He passively watched as Malfoy left, merely calling out, “I’ll be keeping my eyes on you, Malfoy!”

 

Harry continued to follow him over the next few days, and he found that Malfoy was constantly on guard, persistently checking over his shoulder and saying very little to anyone.  Whether this was only since their little confrontation or whether Malfoy had been behaving this way since the start of term, Harry wasn’t sure.  Malfoy seemed to be eyeing everyone with suspicion, except his Head of House, whom he actively avoided.  Harry had even snuck down to the Slytherin Quidditch practice and watched as Malfoy had let himself become frequently distracted, often making silly mistakes.  As far as Harry was aware, Hermione and Ron hadn’t caught on to his surveillance.  Nothing had been mentioned—they were too busy spending time ‘together’, Harry resentfully acknowledged; but at least this made it easier for Harry to spy on Malfoy.  It was certainly taking his mind off of the now-absent Oliver Wood, which, he reasoned, could only be a good thing.  

 

At the end of the second week, Harry noticed an eagle owl swooping into the Great Hall and delivering a letter to Malfoy at breakfast.  He watched as Malfoy took the proffered letter and read it with a carefully composed face.  Malfoy left the table immediately.  That day, and that day only, saw Draco Malfoy temporarily return to his normal foulness, taking his venom out on any easy target.  Harry assumed that this was due to the letter, and he was curious to find out what it could’ve said to prompt this brief resurgence in Malfoy’s vindictiveness.  

 

As part of his continuing observations of Malfoy, Harry had begun to make a habit of checking the Marauders’ Map each evening before he went to bed.  He soon realised that Malfoy was making regular excursions to the Astronomy Tower—alone.  Harry decided to pay him a visit. 

 

The following evening, he feigned tiredness and went up to the dormitory early before making a hidden exit under his Invisibility Cloak.  He made sure he was already waiting in the tower when Malfoy arrived.  Malfoy quietly closed the door and exhaled loudly.  He then stomped across to one of the windows, frowning, and stared into the blackness outside, raking his hands through his short blond hair.  Seeing that Malfoy was apparently not here for any nefarious reasons, Harry made to remove the cloak and reveal himself, but stopped when the door suddenly banged open.  Professor Snape stood there—a silhouette against the light coming in from the staircase.

 

“I think it’s about time you stopped these little night time jaunts of yours, Draco.”  Snape’s harsh tones broke through the silence, and a look of apprehension flooded Malfoy’s face.

 

“I’ve overlooked them so far, but I’m not prepared to continue doing so,” Snape said as he walked in and closed the door behind himself.  “I think it’s about time you talked to someone.”

 

“No.”  Malfoy’s raspy voice could barely be heard, even though the room was silent.  Harry could see him sitting stock-still in the moonlight that flooded in from the window; he seemed petrified. 

 

“You’ve changed since your father’s escape.  I’m not the only one who’s noticed: your father’s been in contact with me, and he’s worried, Draco.  He’s asked me to keep an eye on you.”  Harry watched as Malfoy flinched when his father was mentioned.  “I know what that letter was about; I’m aware of what’s expected to happen.  Draco, you _can_ trust me.”

 

     “I know,” Malfoy agreed, but even Harry could tell that he was lying.  “But there’s nothing I need to say about it.”  

 

“Very well, get back to your bed, then!” the Professor snapped, irritation clear in his voice.

 

     Harry sat there for a few moments after both Malfoy and Snape had left.  He had so many questions running through his head.  Harry had started at Snape’s mention of the letter; it definitely was connected to Malfoy’s behaviour.  If only he knew what it was about, and how Snape knew about it.  What _was_ expected to happen?  Harry then wondered why Lucius had asked Snape to watch over Malfoy; what was Lucius so worried about?  Harry was also surprised at the complete lack of trust Malfoy had shown towards Snape.  He considered the possibility that Snape had been exposed, but he decided against it.  Lucius Malfoy certainly wouldn’t trust the man to keep an eye on his son if that was the case, especially as Lucius needed to remain out of the Ministry’s reach.  But he couldn’t understand why Malfoy should be so scared. If anything, Harry reasoned, it should work the other way round.  Surely Malfoy could make Snape’s life awkward, via his father, if he wanted to.  But Malfoy _was_ scared.  Harry would have normally relished the situation between Malfoy and Snape, but he had to admit to feeling a slight twinge of sympathy at Malfoy’s discomfort in Snape’s presence.  Feeling a little uneasy with this, he reasoned that he was probably just tired.  On his way to bed, he decided to discuss what had happened with Hermione and Ron over breakfast.

 

     The next morning, Harry found he didn’t have the opportunity to bring the subject up, or even get a word in edgeways.  Ron and Hermione were too busy cooing over each other and moaning about the lack of privacy at Hogwarts.  When a break finally came in the conversation, it was soon filled by one of the school owls arriving with a letter from Hagrid: Pig had recovered, and Ron could go and collect him.  Harry opted not to bother telling them about the previous evening.

 

Ron and Hermione both bounded across the grounds enthusiastically to regain his owl, with Harry trailing after them.  Pig still looked a bit sorry for himself, but he was certainly fluffier, and less ‘icky’, as Ron had put it.

 

“Normally, I would’ve bin able ter fix ‘im up a lot sooner, bu’ he had a few ulcers, see, an’ they take a good deal longer ter heal, withou’ a bi’ of pigeon berry.  I haven’t bin able ter get hold of any since tha’ burglary at Christmas.”

 

 “It was pigeon berry that was stolen!” Hermione exclaimed, much to Hagrid’s dismay, and as they left his hut, the three made hasty promises that they wouldn’t mention it to anyone.    

 

 “Pigeon berry…  I remember that name,” Ron muttered to himself as they walked back.  He placed Pig carefully into a breast pocket of his shirt, and the owl hooted softly in appreciation.   “I know!  Percy used to have some; he used it in a potion for his acne!”

 

“Voldemort is going to defeat the wizarding world by curing it of its ulcers, and by de-zitting it!” Harry said with a laugh.

 

“Let me guess,” Ron began, glancing at Hermione with a look of resignation.  “We’re going to be spending the afternoon in the library.”  

 

Hermione grinned back at him, almost maliciously, it seemed.

     

     In the library, Ron soon became bored wading through hefty tomes, and instead, turned to flicking through a _Wizarding_ _World_ magazine.  Hermione threw him a few disgruntled stares, but she let him continue without any verbal nagging.  

 

“Woah!  I think I’ve found out something useful!”  Ron suddenly exclaimed, earning him a stern look from Madame Pince.  Leaning forward, he grinned and then continued in a whisper, “There’s an article all about ‘poke root’ in here, it’s also known as _pigeon berry._ The article briefly mentions the ‘international shortage’, and it describes how to prepare alternatives to use in healing potions for ‘lymphatic disorders, ulcers, and acne and other skin complaints’, but at the bottom it says this: ‘it is also rumoured that poke root is a key ingredient in certain types of bonding rites.  These particular rites are included in the initiation rituals of a number of highly secretive cults and societies.’”

 

“A ‘highly secretive cult or society’ is initiating a load of new recruits?” Harry asked.  “Doesn’t take much of an imagination to work out exactly who they are.”

 

“Death Eaters,” Hermione stated, looking uneasy at the revelation.  “Perhaps Malfoy’s change in behaviour has something to do with this…” 

 

“We know that he wouldn’t get away with having the Dark Mark while he’s still at school,” Ron pointed out, “so maybe he’s just sulking because he’s not allowed it!” 

          

That seemed to satisfy Hermione and Ron as they chuckled over the image of Malfoy sulking to get his own way.  Harry laughed, too, but he wasn’t convinced.  He felt there had to be more to Malfoy’s behaviour than that; even Malfoy couldn’t be _that_ shallow.

 


	5. Redrawing the Boundaries

* * *

The following lunchtime, Harry had been left to wander down to the Great Hall without Hermione and Ron.  They had gone off together after the last lesson of the morning, blushing and whispering to each other as they went.  Harry tried not to be annoyed about this.  After all, Ron _had_ told him that they were going to get some privacy in the common room while everyone else was eating; it wasn’t as if they hadn’t bothered to let him know.  But he still felt a bit lonely.  Seeing a couple of Gryffindor sixth years ahead in the corridor, he began to walk faster to catch them up.  As he drew near, he overheard Seamus talking.

 

“I wonder what that was all about,” Seamus pondered.  “Maybe they’re going to finally kick him out of the school!”  

 

Seamus was discussing the events of the morning’s Potions lesson.  Professor McGonagall had turned up part way through and asked if she could take Malfoy.  Malfoy had looked as if he was marching off to his own funeral, and Professor Snape had looked _almost_ worried.  Harry inwardly chuckled at Seamus’s enthusiasm before halting abruptly.  Thinking of the lesson had made him realise that his bag was lighter than it should’ve been: it had definitely been heavier before Potions than it was now.  Frowning, he moved to one side of the corridor and began to rummage through the bag.  _Oh, no.  I’ve managed to leave my Potions text behind,_ he thought. _I bet it’s in Snape’s classroom._

He turned around and walked briskly back down towards the dungeons.  As he rounded a corner he ran smack into a fuming Draco Malfoy, who was coming the other way.

 

“You clumsy idiot!” Malfoy shouted.

 

“Me? It’s not as if you were actually looking where you were going,” Harry retorted.

 

“Oh, get lost, Potter,” Malfoy angrily spat at Harry before making to continue on his way.

 

“Malfoy!” Harry called after him.  “Why did you get pulled out of Potions today?”  

 

But Harry was ignored.  He decided to throw one last question in the hope that he’d be able to provoke a response and get some answers.  

 

“Were you ‘summoned’ for the Dark Mark?”

 

Draco stopped abruptly and turned round.  His face was now pulled into a sneer, but a very pale one.  “What do you know?”

 

“I have my sources,” Harry replied as calmly as he could.  Inside, he was reeling; he hadn’t expected his dig to be so accurate.  He had only hoped to goad Malfoy into giving a response, and this was not the response he’d anticipated.  Harry had never imagined it would be an issue whilst Malfoy was still at Hogwarts.  But Malfoy was really going to do it: he was going to follow in his father’s footsteps and become one of Voldemort’s pawns.

 

“You’re finally going to be rid of me,” Draco snarled, and he raised his eyebrows cockily at Harry, but he couldn’t hide the fact that it was just for show.  Harry had never seen Malfoy come across as being so unsure before.  “You won’t have to put up with me for much longer.  Tonight I’ll be out of here.”

 

“You don’t seem too happy about it,” Harry pointed out, and then he decided to take another wild stab in the dark by throwing Draco a lifeline.  He didn’t expect Malfoy to take advantage of it, but there was no harm trying; one less Death Eater for Voldemort was never a bad thing.  “You don’t have to go.  There’s always a choice.”

 

Draco laughed derisively.  “No, there isn’t always a choice, Potter.  Not in the _real_ world.  We are destined to be enemies, and that’s all there is to it.”

 

But once again, there was the underlying uncertainty; Harry couldn’t miss it.  It was obvious Malfoy was scared and didn’t want to go through with it, but he was still going to.  Why?  Harry could only assume that Malfoy didn’t know that there could be any other way.  As much as Harry disliked Malfoy, he hated the thought of anyone, even if it was Malfoy, being forced into Voldemort’s service.  It was up to him to provide another option that could be taken.  It was evident that no one else was going to try and stop Malfoy.  

 

“We don’t have to be enemies.  If you really don’t want to go, then you can talk to Dumbledore, ask him for help.”

 

“That geriatric crackpot?  What can he do to help me?  He’s just a bumbling old fool!”

 

“He knows enough for Voldemort to be scared of him.”  Harry frowned at the way Draco flinched uncomfortably.  He knew Malfoy didn’t like to hear the name, but Harry had never seen him reacting quite so strongly.  “Do you really want to spend your life on-call for Voldemort?  I’ve seen the way he summons his Death Eaters, Malfoy, feeling the Mark burning on their arm until they Apparate to him.  And I’ve seen the way your father sucks up to him.  Do you really want to live like that?”

 

     Harry knew he’d hit a sore spot.  At the mention of his father, Malfoy stiffened, clenching both his fists and his jaw, looking incensed.  But surprisingly, his fury was directed at his supposed future superior, not at Harry.

 

“Why are you doing this, Potter?  Can’t you stop yourself from playing the noble Gryffindor!”

 

“You may be an idiot, Malfoy, but that doesn’t mean I want to see you going to join the Death Eaters.”

 

Malfoy looked torn.  It was obvious to Harry that he wanted out, but Malfoy was proving to be very resistant on the matter.  “There’s no point in trying to stop me: I have to leave in an hour.”

 

“We can see Dumbledore now,” Harry retorted, determined to be just as stubborn.  Was Malfoy really prepared to let his own ego dictate his future for him?  _Well, he might not appreciate having to accept help from me_ , Harry thought, _but it seems I’m the only one offering it_.

 

“You’re serious, aren’t you?” Malfoy sneered.  “You really want to play saviour and be the one to bring me over to the ‘good’ side?  Well, you won’t do it, Potter, I might not want to be a Death Eater, but I won’t be converted.”

 

They stood there in silence, facing each other and glaring.  Harry wasn’t going to be the first one to walk away from this, and it appeared that Malfoy wasn’t so eager to walk away, either.  He wondered if Malfoy’s verbal admission of not wanting to become a Death Eater meant he _was_ willing to see the headmaster.  Harry thought that, with a bit of persistence, Malfoy had to buckle soon; if there were no chance of it, surely he would’ve walked away from this conversation by now.

 

“I don’t want to ‘convert’ you, Malfoy, but who else is going to give you the opportunity to walk away from Voldemort?” Harry asked, watching with hope as an expression of distaste grew across Malfoy’s face.  “It’s not very Slytherin of you, placing your pride above saving your own skin.”

 

Frowning, Malfoy chewed on his lip for a moment, thinking this over, before he grudgingly relented.  

 

“I’ll see Dumbledore, but you tell _no one_ about this,” Malfoy spat, speaking quickly as if to get the bad taste of the words out of his mouth as soon as possible.  “Not even Granger or the Weasel.”  He finished with a scowl, making it clear that he did not like having to accept help from Harry Potter.

 

Now it was Harry’s turn to take a moment to consider things, but it didn’t take him long.  It wasn’t as if Ron and Hermione were showing that much of an interest in his life at the moment, anyway.  They were completely oblivious, so far, of his careful watch of Malfoy, and he couldn’t think of any reason why he should feel obliged to tell them of this latest development.  He certainly didn’t want to risk losing this opportunity of keeping Malfoy away from Voldemort.  “All right, I won’t mention this to anyone other than Dumbledore.”

 

Malfoy seemed to shrink visibly when they arrived in Professor Dumbledore’s office, taking an intense interest in the carpet as he walked over to one of the chairs opposite the desk.  Harry absently noted that the lighting didn’t do much for Malfoy’s complexion; then he looked at Dumbledore and decided that it was probably more due to nerves than the lighting.  The headmaster amiably looked over his glasses at them before speaking.  

 

“Mr Potter.  Mr Malfoy.  How may I be of assistance?”

 

Harry looked over at Malfoy, who still had his head turned downwards, feet shuffling on the rug, and his fingers clasped as if he could stop them shaking by sheer force.  Malfoy seemed unable to find the words he needed, or any words at all, and so Harry spoke for him.  

 

“Sir, you can’t let Malfoy go home tonight.  He has to stay at Hogwarts.”

 

Dumbledore glanced over at the apprehensive Malfoy, apparently trying to gain eye contact and failing, before turning back to Harry.  “Would you care to explain?”

 

“He’s supposed to be receiving the Dark Mark, but he doesn’t want it.  I told him to talk to you.  You can help, can’t you?  If he _wants_ to stay, they can’t force him to go…” Harry trailed off as he realised he was almost whining at the headmaster.  The sudden idea that perhaps Dumbledore wouldn’t be able to offer Malfoy sanctuary at Hogwarts made an unwelcome appearance in his thoughts.

 

“No, Harry, they cannot force him to go.”  

 

Harry let a sigh of relief escape from his lips.  Dumbledore now turned his attention to Malfoy and continued, eye contact notwithstanding.  “Mr Malfoy, if you wish to remain at Hogwarts, then I will do everything in my power to ensure your safety.  I assume that Harry is correct when he says that you want to stay?”  Draco looked up and nodded gratefully, but he remained quiet.  “I’m pleased you have been able to come to this decision.  It must be difficult to go against the wishes of your family.  Do any of the other students know why you were called out of class today?”

 

“As far as I’m aware, only Potter knows.”

 

“Well, I suggest that it would be best for all concerned if we kept this quiet for as long as possible.  I, myself, will explain things to your mother, and I will endeavour to be as tactful as I can; I do not intend to destroy the relationship that you have with your family.” Albus gave a benevolent smile.  “Thank you for trusting me.  In making this decision, you have shown a level of maturity that does you credit.” 

 

“May I go and unpack, sir?”

 

“I think that would be a good idea.”  Malfoy pushed himself out of the chair, and Harry went to do likewise, but the headmaster politely coughed to gain his attention. “Harry, may I detain you for a moment longer?”

 

Harry watched as Malfoy left the office.  Turning back to Professor Dumbledore, he found himself being offered a sherbet lemon.

 

“I am very proud of you, Harry.  You’ve been able to put aside the disagreements you’ve had with Draco in the past, in order to help him.”

 

“I don’t see how I could’ve done any differently, sir.  It was obvious he didn’t want to go.”

 

“You could’ve left him to his fate.  I don’t believe for one moment that Draco was the one to approach you with a plea for help.  You made the offer, even though he never asked for it, didn’t you?”

 

Harry nodded.

 

“Would you consider befriending him, Harry?  I appreciate that he will most likely resist your efforts, at first, but I am certain that he will need someone to talk to who he can trust, if he is going to stand by his decision.  I don’t think any of his previous friendships will be suitable in this situation, and we need to ensure that he won’t be tempted to join Voldemort’s followers in the future.”

 

Harry agreed, once again feeling as if there wasn’t any alterative given the circumstances, though, he knew it was probably just Dumbledore’s power of persuasion leaving him with this impression.  Harry wondered if Dumbledore had employed the same methodology when coercing Snape to continue with the Occlumency lessons.

 

When he met Hermione and Ron later on, they hadn’t even noticed his absence at lunchtime.  Nor had any of the other Gryffindors, for that matter.  _At least I don’t have to lie to anyone,_ he told himself.

 

Harry kept wondering why Dumbledore had chosen him for this role.  There had to be someone more suitable in Slytherin, someone who wasn’t rooting for Voldemort and actually had something in common with the ferret.  He didn’t know how he’d go about befriending Malfoy, but he hoped that, just in getting Malfoy to stay at Hogwarts, part of the job had already been done.  He needed opportunities to get Malfoy on his own so they could talk more.  And if the opportunities did present themselves, Harry didn’t have a clue what they could talk about.  After all, they didn’t seem to have much in common.  Perhaps they could moan about Snape together, Harry reasoned to himself, as Malfoy was obviously still wary of the man.  

 

The first encounter with Malfoy occurred one evening when Harry had been walking from the library to the common room, in order to retrieve a book left behind.  

 

“Have you heard from your family?” Harry asked, feeling awkward with the forced situation and not knowing what else to say.

 

Malfoy only narrowed his eyes at Harry.  He was not happy with the Harry’s chosen topic.  “And why should I tell you?”

 

“I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.  It’s not as if you’ve got anyone else to talk to.”  Malfoy snorted at this, but Harry could tell he was right in assuming Malfoy had a distinct lack of friends.  “I’ve kept my word so far: I haven’t said anything to Hermione or Ron about what’s happened.  _They_ still hate you.”

 

“And you don’t?” Malfoy asked in disbelief, sneering at Harry as he did so. 

 

“Not anymore.”  And it was true, Harry realised—he didn’t hate Malfoy anymore.  Not after he’d confided in Harry and had the courage to turn down the Dark Mark.

 

“Well, perhaps they’ve got the right idea about me,” Malfoy spat back.  But after staring at the resolute Gryffindor for several moments, he relented and motioned towards an adjacent classroom, glancing warily up and down the corridor as he did so.

 

Only when they were inside with the door closed did he begin to speak once more.

 

“Dumbledore told me that my family ‘understand the potential consequences of public exposure all too well’ and won’t risk pushing the issue of taking me out of school.  _I_ haven’t heard anything.”  His face looked saddened for a moment, and then he fixed Harry with a steely-eyed gaze before speaking with unexpected venom.  “I missed my father over the summer.  And that was _your_ fault, Potter!  And now… now he’s back, I still can’t see him, and I still miss him…”

 

Harry was taken aback by the anger in Malfoy’s voice.  He couldn’t understand it.  How could Malfoy really think so highly of his father, especially, as far as Harry was aware, when Lucius had ordered his own son to have the Dark Mark?  “You really still think that much of him, even though he was going to sell you off to Voldemort?”  

 

At this, Malfoy’s cold eyes bore straight through Harry.  He balled his fists.  “It’s not that simple, Potter.  My father made his choice a long time ago, and there’s no going back on that, now.  He’s far too involved to be able to do anything different, even if he wants to.”

 

Harry was speechless.  He seriously hadn’t considered that Lucius might be willing to give up Voldemort’s cause for his son but couldn’t escape his situation.  It did make sense, though.  Last year, Sirius had said something similar about his brother, Regulus: ‘…he got in so far, then panicked about what he was being asked to do and tried to back out.  Well, you don’t just hand in your resignation to Voldemort.  It’s a lifetime of service or death.’  Harry supposed that Lucius wouldn’t be much use as a father if he got himself killed.  It was either do the best that he could or let his son lose out completely.  Harry now found himself appreciating how much it might be affecting Draco Malfoy: to know that his father didn’t have a choice but to put him in second place.  But although he was feeling a little more sympathetic towards Draco, it didn’t stop Harry hating Lucius; he couldn’t, not after all he’d seen of the man.  He was still a Death Eater—he was still one of those who stood by and watched whilst Harry had been tortured by Voldemort.  And if he had gotten the prophecy last year, Lucius would have been only too willing to kill Harry himself.

 

“I just wish I could get back to my family,” Malfoy admitted.  “But someone’s got to finish off You-Know-Who before that’ll happen.  I suppose _you’re_ probably the one who’s destined to be the hero of the hour.”  Harry shifted uncomfortably, not wanting to answer this.  Malfoy started, astonished at what had been unintentionally revealed.  “You _are_ , aren’t you?  Bloody hell, Potter, is your addiction to playing hero an official medical condition, or are you just afraid of letting anyone else steal your limelight?”

 

“I don’t want to talk about this…” Harry trailed off, thinking of the prophecy that he still hadn’t fully acknowledged.

 

“What is this?  I have to confide in you, but you’re above showing me the same courtesy?”  Malfoy let out a short, mirthless laugh.  “Well, tough luck, Potter.  I’ve already got the general idea, so you might as well fill in the details.  But if you really don’t want to tell me yourself, I can always ask around.  I’m sure if I talk to enough people, ask them if they know about you being _destined_ to kill You-Know-Who…” Having made his point well enough, Malfoy trailed off, looking very pleased with himself.

 

As he felt his anger rise at Malfoy’s underhand tactics, Harry bit his lip and slowly counted to ten.  It would’ve been so easy to threaten Malfoy, to gloat over telling the rest of the school about Malfoy’s recent change of heart.  But that would’ve meant not honouring his agreement with Dumbledore: to befriend him.  As he calmed down, Harry came to the uncomfortable realisation that, in the process of making friends with Malfoy, quite a few secrets could be unearthed, and he’d probably have to let Malfoy in on most of them.  Harry reasoned that Dumbledore must’ve known Harry would have to tell Malfoy certain things in order to gain his trust.  

 

“There’s part of a prophecy, about me…” Harry reluctantly began, scowling at Malfoy’s smug grin. “Basically it ends with ‘neither can live while the other survives’.  At some point, I’m going to have to face Voldemort again, and only one of us will walk away.  I’ll either be murdered, or a murderer.”

 

“That sounds a bit melodramatic.  I don’t see the problem with having to kill You-Know-Who.  If you’re going to be a murderer, it might as well be that piece of scum who you kill.”

 

Malfoy’s blunt description of Voldemort left a weak smile on Harry’s face.  “I just don’t like the idea of having to decide when another person’s life should finish,” he explained.

 

“Why do Gryffindors always have to be so bloody honourable?”

 

Malfoy’s sarcastic quip helped to ease the tension between them.  They both chuckled, but Harry couldn’t help pointing out one of his nagging thoughts.  “I hope you realise that Hermione and Ron don’t know what the prophecy is about.”

 

Malfoy’s smug grin reappeared, and Harry questioned his decision to reveal the details of the prophecy.  He was sure Malfoy would be bound to rub it in and use it to wind him up, but Harry certainly wasn’t sure whether Malfoy would be able keep it to himself, or whether he would be spreading the rumours as soon as he made it back to the Slytherin common room.  Harry could imagine it now, ‘Potty Prophecy Potter!’  Most probably emblazoned on badges, knowing Malfoy.  He would just have to wait and see if putting his confidence in Malfoy would be something he’d live to regret.  

 

“I’m trusting you with this, Malfoy.  Don’t ask me why, because I don’t really know.  You now have the perfect opportunity to show me what an idiot I really am.”  

 

Malfoy’s complacency appeared to wane slightly at these words, and his gaze drifted, focusing at nothing in particular, as if mulling over the unexpected turn of events.  Harry took the silence as an opportunity to ask a question he was itching to know the answer to.

 

“So, why _did_ you get pulled out of class like that?” he asked, hoping the disclosure of information would now work both ways.  “I would’ve thought you’d be summoned a bit more discreetly.”

 

Malfoy’s smile faltered a little bit more, but he surprised Harry by granting him an answer.  “I was supposed to be getting the Mark in April; I was due to go home for a long weekend.  But I sent a letter home saying I didn’t want to have it done… I guess they couldn’t cope with that and just wanted to get the whole business out of the way.” 

 

“Why didn’t you tell anyone when you went home at Christmas?”

 

“I couldn’t.”  The smile had now disappeared completely.  Malfoy’s words became lifeless as he looked blankly out of the window.  “You-Know-Who was there.”

 

Harry suddenly realised that he didn’t like Malfoy looking like this.  What had Voldemort done to him?  He was so used to the Slytherin being confident and sure of things that this new side—a side that had evidently been surprised and disappointed by Voldemort—made Harry forget that this was Draco Malfoy standing in front of him.  Harry found himself wanting to reach out and hug Malfoy, just as Harry had needed someone to reach out and take his pain away when Voldemort had hurt him.  A major illusion in Malfoy’s life had been shattered, and Harry had the urge to help, to take the pain away.  But he couldn’t, he knew Malfoy would never be able to accept that from ‘Harry Potter’.  

 

“Did he do something to you?” Harry asked tentatively.

 

“No.  He didn’t do anything to _me_.  I wasn’t the one who upset You-Know-Who by messing up his plans.  I wasn’t the one who got himself exposed and sent to Azkaban.”

 

Harry thought back to his scar burning just after Christmas.  It suddenly occurred to him that it must have been Lucius who was being tortured.  But Voldemort must’ve punished Lucius before.  Why it would make such an impact now, unless Draco had been present?  

 

“What happened to your father?  Did Voldemort… did he make you watch?”

 

“No, he didn’t _make_ me.  They didn’t even know I was there, hiding in the back of the storage room with my book…” He trailed off for moment, and Harry could see Malfoy was having trouble explaining; his voice had a slight tremor to it, and his hands were shaking.  

 

Malfoy drew in a deep breath before continuing in a low, disgusted tone of voice.  “I used to go there a lot, whenever _he_ came to visit, just so I could avoid him.  I wasn’t expecting him to use the room to do _that_ to my father… He treated my father like an animal.  And my father just took it all… I _never_ want to be like that.”

 

Harry couldn’t shake the feeling that Malfoy was implying that something more insidious had occurred than punishment by the Cruciatus curse.  Harry knew personally what it was like to receive that curse at the hands of Voldemort, and he didn’t relish the thought of watching someone he cared about go through the experience.  To Harry’s confusion, Malfoy seemed to be not only upset by it, but also repulsed.  But what could Voldemort have done?  What could be worse than an Unforgivable curse?  Harry then thought back to the _other_ sensation that had passed through his scar, and he just managed to hold back from shouting out ‘bloody hell!’  He suddenly had a few ideas of what could have been worse than just an Unforgivable.  When he thought of Malfoy watching his father being abused in that way, Harry felt his eyes automatically start to well up.  This _was_ sympathy that he was feeling, and tiredness was no excuse this time.  No one should have to witness something like that, not even Malfoy.

 

“So, what…” he tentatively began to ask, not even knowing if he wanted to hear Malfoy having to re-live it just to appease Harry’s curiosity.

 

“Don’t bother asking, because I’m not discussing the details with _anyone_.  Least of all you, Potter.”

 

“Well, if you ever change your mind… if you should ever _want_ to talk about it… just…” Harry trailed off.  “Look, I’d better get going.  Hermione and Ron are waiting for me in the library—they’ll want to know why I’ve taken so long as it is.”

 

“I’ll see you later then, Potter.”

 

“See you later, Malfoy.”

 

As it turned out, Hermione and Ron hadn’t noticed how long Harry had been, or that he had forgotten the book he had been to retrieve: they were too busy making eyes at one another over their books.  Harry, feeling very much in the way, soon left them to it and ended up going to bed early.

 

Over the next few days, it became clear to Harry that he needn’t worry about Malfoy betraying his trust, which was a nice surprise.  Malfoy was also still keeping to himself and not being the instigator in any altercations.  Unfortunately, the same couldn’t be said for certain Gryffindors, especially Ron.  They were still taking on the challenge of seeing how much it would take to provoke Malfoy, believing he was being less of a bully this term because he no longer had Crabbe and Goyle to back him up.  Ron was thoroughly enjoying the ‘sport’ of Malfoy-baiting: it was as if he had been offered Malfoy on a plate, and finally had the opportunity to get him back for all the grief he’d dished out over the past five years.  At least Malfoy now seemed to be putting up a bit more of a fight than usual.  But Harry still felt as if he had to try to put a stop to it before Ron got out of hand, and this had to be done without letting anything slip about his enforced association with Malfoy.

 

“Don’t you think it’s about time you eased up on Malfoy?” Harry asked, as Ron waited for Hermione outside the Quidditch changing rooms.  They had just finished the match with Hufflepuff, and Ron was tired and grumpy.  It had taken nearly three hours for Harry to spot and catch the snitch, and Ron had worn himself out in keeping the number of Hufflepuff goals down to eight.  

 

Although Ron had already given a couple of less-than-subtle hints that he wanted to be alone with Hermione, Harry stubbornly chose to ignore them: he was feeling far too annoyed with Ron’s latest childish amusement at Malfoy’s expense.  Harry had overheard Ron planning with Jack Sloper, one of the Gryffindor Beaters, and he found out that Malfoy’s broom was going to be sabotaged before the next Slytherin Quidditch practice.

 

“Ease up on Malfoy?” Ron spluttered around his mouthful of chocolate frog.  “Are you feeling ill or something?”

 

“It’s just that he doesn’t seem to deserve it anymore.”  For his observation, Harry received a look of disbelief from Ron.

 

“Doesn’t deserve it?  You must be joking!  After all that he’s done to us— _especially_ for what he’s done to you!  Don’t you care about what he’s put us through?”

 

“But he hasn’t gone out of his way to hassle any of us lately.  What if… what if something has happened to him?”  Harry searched for the right words; he wanted to make Ron think, but not too much.  “What if he doesn’t want to support Voldemort anymore?  What if he wants to put it all behind him?”

 

“Since when do you care about Malfoy?  And anyway, how do you justify him transfiguring my owl into a mousetrap yesterday?  That bloody well hurt my shoulder!”

 

“You started that fight, Ron,” Harry replied, thankful for the diversion that Ron was blissfully unaware of.

 

“No, I…”

 

“So it wasn’t you flicking flakes of owl pellet at him?” Ron withered under Harry’s stern gaze.  “Ron, I haven’t provoked him since before Christmas, and he hasn’t started on _me_.  Maybe it’s time we all gave him a break.”

 

     Ron turned to Hermione, who was approaching, for back up.  After explaining what had been said, Ron was bitterly disappointed that she agreed with Harry, although it was for different reasons.  As far as Hermione was concerned, Malfoy was probably still up to no good, but they’d be more likely to spot what he was planning—or if he made any slip-ups—if Ron wasn’t distracting things by trying to annoy him all the time.  Harry felt relieved that Hermione had concurred with him: things had been awkward, to say the least, during the last altercation between Malfoy and Ron.  He felt as if he should’ve been sticking up for Malfoy, but he didn’t dare try to stop Ron.  Hopefully, he wouldn’t have to deal with that type of situation again.  Developing a friendship with Malfoy was going to be awkward enough without Ron picking fights all the time.

 


	6. Trust and Mistrust

Over the next few weeks, Harry saw less and less of Hermione and Ron.  When he did hang around with them—and when it was just the three of them—he felt awkward, as if he was an intruder.  They were still his friends, but they were only available at certain times, and then usually other people—such as Ginny or Millicent—would want to spend time with them as well.  At least Harry had something else with which he could distract himself: Dumbledore’s project of befriending the ferret.  He had continued to run into Malfoy in places where they’d be able to talk: the astronomy tower, corridors that weren’t generally used, and in the stacks of the library.  He was pleased to note that Malfoy seemed to be accepting their conversations quite well.  Harry was tempted to think that Malfoy was even enjoying them, especially all the opportunities he had to back Harry into a corner and wheedle out more ‘private’ information.  This ‘wheedling’ had started with Malfoy implying he was going to let slip to a few people about the prophecy, and things had snowballed from there.  

 

One evening, they had bumped into each other when Harry was on his way to an Occlumency lesson.  Harry had to end the conversation prematurely so that he wouldn’t be late, and he suggested that they continue afterwards.  Malfoy had agreed, and from that moment on, they began to meet up formally.  Most often they met after Occlumency.  It should’ve been convenient because Hermione and Ron wouldn’t question the lateness of his return, but Harry bitterly acknowledged that they probably wouldn’t notice his absences, anyway.  

 

Harry showed Malfoy the Room of Requirement, and they frequently met up there.  The room looked like a blending of the Gryffindor and Slytherin common rooms, with green and gold colouring, sparse lighting, and a warm feel to the air.  Two plush green chairs were placed at an angle in front of a glowing fire, and sometimes a table complete with butterbeer and biscuits would be present in front of the chairs if either of them happened to be hungry or thirsty.  Harry was pleased to note that there were no pictures on the walls, as he had been worried about them gossiping over his and Malfoy’s occasional rendezvous.  Malfoy had been impressed with the idea behind the room, but he was less than happy with its choice of décor.  Whereas Harry had thought that this was the best of both the Gryffindor and Slytherin common rooms, Malfoy just ridiculed the ‘poncy gold trimming’ and pointed out how pathetic Gryffindors must be to need their common room so warm.  Despite the criticisms, Harry had been vastly amused by Malfoy’s initial inspection of the room.  When Harry had first shown him the room, he had spent a good twenty minutes investigating the way the door appeared and reappeared in the corridor.  Then he had insisted that they tried walking in again and again, in the hope that the room might change into something more ‘stylish’.  Harry suspected that Malfoy just wanted a few novelties to look at and with which he could mess around—either that or he didn’t believe the room adapted to your requirements at all.  Malfoy had given Harry a look of mock disdain when Harry mentioned that the point of the room for them was just so they could talk, and so wouldn’t be likely to change.

 

When it came to extracting information, Harry soon learned that Malfoy was more than capable of being as persuasive as Dumbledore, if nowhere near as subtle.  At first, Harry felt a little uncomfortable with revealing so much to a recent enemy, especially on those occasions when Malfoy chose to blatantly blackmail him into doing so.  But he kept telling himself that he was doing this as a favour to Dumbledore, and after a while, Harry realised that it was turning out to be quite therapeutic.  He liked being able to talk about some of the things that had never surfaced in conversation with Ron and Hermione, and it seemed that Malfoy wasn’t about to tell anyone of their little chats.  Surprisingly, Malfoy proved to be an attentive listener, and he was even capable of showing a bit of sympathy at times.  Although he couldn’t help making the occasional sarcastic comment, these weren’t said with the same maliciousness as they used to be, and Harry usually found them very funny.  What stuck in Harry’s mind the most was Malfoy’s alternative perspective towards life, one that Harry initially thought of as selfish, but he had to admit that it was also quite realistic.  Malfoy’s point of view often focused on the fact that the past can’t be changed, but the future has the potential to be manipulated.  It was a more tainted and cynical view, but at the same time, more human, too.   

 

The exposure of Harry’s life had begun with Malfoy pestering him about the events that had occurred in the Ministry at the end of last year; Malfoy wanted to know exactly what had happened to get his father thrown into Azkaban.  This had been the first time Harry had spoken about it openly, and he felt ambivalent towards discussing it with Malfoy.  He realised that he had a need to talk to someone about it, but he wasn’t sure that that someone should be Malfoy—and he certainly didn’t enjoy dragging up all the emotions associated with the death of his godfather.  This was when Malfoy had first surprised him.  As he talked about Sirius, Harry felt a tear escaping and making its way down his cheek.  He heard movement from Malfoy’s chair, and he then felt a comforting arm being placed about his shoulders.  

 

“It wasn’t your fault, Potter.  Voldemort played you, just like he plays with everyone else.”

 

Malfoy didn’t sound as if he was being sarcastic, and looking up at Malfoy’s face, it seemed to Harry that his concern was genuine.  Harry had then gone on to explain the real story about Sirius and Peter Pettigrew.  Malfoy was a bit disappointed that Sirius wasn’t the villain he’d imagined, and he had muttered something about ‘bloody Gryffindorks’ that Harry was grateful he didn’t quite catch.   Malfoy then questioned Harry about his other ‘family’, and he proceeded to pick apart Harry’s life at the Dursleys.  Malfoy had found the whole family—and the fact that it was just Harry’s luck to be stuck with people like them—highly amusing.  

 

On another occasion, Malfoy nearly had Harry in tears once more, when badgering him over the events at the end of the fourth year that concerned Cedric Diggory.  When the moment came to tell of Cedric’s death, Malfoy had leaned over again, placing his hand on Harry’s arm, encouraging him in a surprisingly soft voice.  Harry was a little bewildered that he found Malfoy’s proximity very reassuring, and it helped Harry to talk about Cedric without getting as upset as he had expected.  He felt relieved to be able to get all of these experiences out of his system; he felt supported, and it felt strange that this was because of Malfoy.  He tried not to think too hard about it being Malfoy; that inevitably led to Harry questioning what he was doing ‘playing nice’ with the creep who had threatened to kill him last year.  He found it difficult to reconcile the two sides of Malfoy that he had experienced.  Whenever his thoughts strayed into this area, he reminded himself that he was just doing this for Dumbledore, and then he resolutely found something else to think about.

 

The revelation of personal details worked both ways.  Harry took every opening given to get Malfoy to confide details from his own life.  Harry learned a lot about Draco’s upbringing at Malfoy manor, and what struck him was not how much Malfoy had been spoilt in comparison to Harry—he had been expecting that—but that Malfoy’s father had been there for his son at every step of the way—until Voldemort had risen again.  Malfoy explained that it felt as if he had spent most of his childhood in his father’s company.  He had enjoyed the time spent with his father and the opportunity it gave him to learn from Lucius, revelling in the glow when he made his father proud.  He observed his father’s interactions with others and how successful he seemed to be, and Malfoy tried his best to imitate his father and to follow the beliefs and principles that had apparently worked so well for him.  This changed after Voldemort had returned.  Malfoy found that his father had become almost unrecognisable during the few times Malfoy actually got to see him.  Lucius had become tenser and more anxious.  He still looked up to his father, though, understanding that Voldemort would be putting him under a lot of pressure.  Malfoy also found that his father was harder to please.  It was as if Lucius was upping the stakes, trying to prepare Malfoy for something that was just round the corner, and he was scared that his son would fail.  So Malfoy tried even harder, and this seemed to help his father’s unspoken anxiety.  Now that Malfoy had seen just how much of a ‘sick bastard’ Voldemort really was, he wanted to help his father even more, only in a different way…

 

Harry also brought up the subject of the last Hogsmeade weekend, and to his surprise, Malfoy actually showed some remorse.  He told Harry that it wasn’t a case of ‘being evil’, but of doing what’s expected of you because that’s the only option.  Harry’s sympathies were tweaked when Malfoy explained that, at the time, he couldn’t allow himself to care, so he didn’t even let himself think about it; he just filled his head with reasons why those people were expendable without questioning the logic of it at all.  It was necessary for him to keep quiet for his father’s sake.  He had to deal with the knowledge any way he could, and the best way was just not to think.  Malfoy knew he had been an arse; he knew that he hadn’t made the best of decisions since coming to Hogwarts.  

 

“Haven’t you ever made a decision that you regretted, Potter?  Haven’t you ever looked back at your perfect Gryffindork behaviour and realised that, because of something you’d done, you were responsible for something really shitty, but it was too late to do anything about it?”

 

 _Yes,_ Harry thought as he nodded soberly in response.  _I wish I’d thought before I acted; I wish I’d remembered the mirror Sirius had given me.  So this is how you feel, Malfoy; there_ is _guilt and regret, somewhere underneath that arrogant exterior.  Finding out such things about you is more than a little bit strange_ — _I guess you are human, after all._

 

The one thing that didn’t strike Harry as odd was the fact that, even after all these personal conversations, neither one of them could bring themselves to initiate using their first names.  After all, they weren’t _really_ friends; how could they be after all they’d been through?  This was a project, a mutual convenience—a chance to share something with someone when there was no one else available.  _So why am I so bloody concerned about the ferret’s feelings all of a sudden?_ Harry asked himself.  

 

He had arrived at this question when Ron had decided, yet again, to throw a few verbal insults Malfoy’s way.  And this had been instigated by the loss of Neville’s toad.  Trevor had decided to make a leap for freedom in a busy corridor, not an unusual occurrence for the toad.  This was followed by Neville bending down and craning his head around the mass of ankles that were in procession from one class to the next.  He was still searching after the corridor had cleared of bodies, but Trevor had vanished.  Ron, unfortunately, wasn’t taking Hermione’s advice to give Malfoy a bit of slack to heart as much as Harry would have hoped.  He felt justified in taking the toad’s absence personally, linking it to Pig’s earlier abduction, and taking this out on Malfoy.  Much to Harry’s dismay, Ron succeeded in this respect more thoroughly than he realised.

 

They were in a Transfigurations lesson, which was taken with the Slytherins this year, and Neville was worrying that it had nearly been a week since Trevor had last been seen.

 

“I bet Malfoy knew all about it!” Ron had deliberately raised his voice, so the Slytherin could overhear him.  

 

“Ron!”  Harry chastised in a hiss.  Ron turned around from where he was sitting with Hermione in the next row up, and threw Harry a scornful look.

 

“What?  This would be just the sort of thing he’d do!  Or at the very least, I bet he had inside information.  After all, he knew about Hogsmeade, didn’t he?  And he’s bound to know more about what happened to Ernie’s dad than he should; he probably knows the Death Eater that did it.”  Ron was on a rant, and Malfoy was not going to escape from being the victim.

 

“But you don’t _know_ that…” All Harry could do was to plead with Ron’s rational side, and not too obviously, he hoped.  His mind raced to find something to say that would silence Ron, but nothing came to him.

 

“Why are you sticking up for him, anyway?  You know he doesn’t care about innocent people!  He doesn’t care about other people’s families.  As long as Malfoy’s got his mummy and daddy to go home to, he doesn’t give a damn about anyone else.”

 

But Harry knew Malfoy couldn’t go home to his family.  Harry glanced over at Malfoy, who was studiously taking notes from his textbook and tensely biting his lower lip.  Seeing the control Malfoy was exerting in not giving Ron the benefit of a reaction, Harry found yet another reason to respect Malfoy.

 

“Ron, I think you’re going a little bit over the top.”  Harry’s voice was firm.  He couldn’t let Ron continue, not after the comment about Malfoy’s family.  Without realising, Ron had hit Malfoy below the belt.

 

“What?”

 

“Just leave it.  You’re just trying to get a reaction, and it’s not working.  If you keep on, you’ll only get in trouble with McGonagall.”  

 

Harry let out a sigh of relief, as these last few innocuous words had appeared to have the desired effect; he didn’t have to risk exposing his meetings with Malfoy.  But he was still concerned how much Ron’s words might’ve upset Malfoy, and it also left Harry thinking about where Malfoy was going to stay come the end of the year if Voldemort was still at large.  One thing was certain: he wouldn’t be able to go home.

 

  Harry was stewing over this last thought as they conducted another barrage of research in the library that evening.  Hermione had insisted they do this in case the disappearances of Pig and Trevor were connected.  She believed that, if they could find out what the animals were used for, they might be able to work out who was responsible.  But Harry’s mind was not on the task at hand: he was thinking about Malfoy.  The only time he let his thoughts wander anywhere else was when he tried to think of the last occasion that he had been this welcome to join Ron and Hermione, on his own, for an activity that didn’t involve studying or research.

 

Even though they were looking for potions that used Neville’s particular species of toad, they still couldn’t pinpoint any particular potion and had only narrowed it down to about forty-seven potions that used both elf owl feathers and toad parts.  Harry then pointed out they hadn’t yet taken advantage of their access to the restricted section—which they now had thanks to studying advanced Defence Against the Dark Arts—and so could still be missing the right one, anyway.  Hermione frowned at his negative mood, saying that most of the ones they had listed seemed to be similar in that they were potion versions of different transfiguration spells.  There were also a couple used as alternatives to a lack of full moon: brewing certain plants in one of these potions meant they didn’t need to be picked under the full moon when this had been stipulated for other potions.  Despite Hermione’s enthusiasm, Harry was still completely apathetic to the research—he couldn’t understand what they hoped to achieve by all of this, and he was too busy trying to think of places Malfoy could stay over the holidays.  

 

So far, he had come up with a grand total of one: the Dursleys.  He knew that Malfoy would not like the suggestion much, and what Vernon would have to say about it didn’t take a lot of imagination.  But if he could persuade Malfoy, he was sure Dumbledore would agree, and then the Dursley’s wouldn’t have any say in the matter.  Eventually, his patience deserted him, and he left Ron and Hermione to carry on the research without him.  He wanted to talk to Malfoy about his summer plans, even though they weren’t supposed to be meeting up that evening. 

 

Harry went back to his dormitory and arranged the pillows so the others would assume he was asleep and would leave him be.  He knew that Malfoy had Quidditch practice that evening, and he decided to wait in the Ancient Runes classroom by the Hufflepuff tower, where Malfoy would be passing on his way to the dungeons.  As he was making his way there, he passed Luna Lovegood in the corridor and gave her a friendly smile.  She stopped to talk.

 

“I thought you hated him,” she stated obscurely, although Harry had a nasty suspicion she was referring to Malfoy.  

 

“Who?”  

 

“The one you’ve secretly been seeing a lot lately: your new friend, Mr Malfoy.”  

 

“We’re not friends…” he began, and Luna responded with a disapproving look.  Although Harry didn’t like the fact that someone had found out about his meetings with Malfoy, he consoled himself that at least it was Luna.  After all, she hadn’t gossiped to the whole school about his liking Oliver Wood.  He only hoped that no one else had noticed, that she only worked it out because of her ability to ‘notice extra things that other people miss’.  “It’s not like that… we just meet up to talk sometimes… I thought we’d been discreet about it.”

 

 “I don’t think anyone else is that clued up; you’d soon know if they were.  A rumour like that would spread like wildfire at Hogwarts.  So, why are you keeping it such a big secret?  Are you dating him?  Does he know he only comes in second place to Oliver Wood?”

 

“No!  No, it’s nothing like that!” he hastily denied.  But it was _his_ secret.  This unexpected connection with Malfoy was something that he had to admit to thinking of quite fondly.  Besides the ‘real’ excuse, he didn’t like the idea of it becoming anyone else’s business.  He figured he better let Luna know the ‘real’ reason and nothing more: there was no point in giving her more fodder to chew on.  

 

“It would upset things between him and his family if they found out we were friends.”

 

“It seems a strange that you haven’t even mentioned it to Hermione and Ron, though.  You haven’t, have you?”  She looked at him for confirmation, and Harry winced.  Luna seemed to have the uncanny ability to hone in on information that he’d just as soon keep hidden.  In an ideal world, of course he would want Ron and Hermione to know, but his friendship with them had become less than the ideal lately.  He realised that he was no longer sure how they would react to an admission of this kind.  Would they be willing to trust his judgement?  But this was all speculative, anyway.  Malfoy didn’t trust Ron and Hermione, and when Malfoy had first confided about the Dark Mark, Harry had made a promise that he’d keep quiet.  

 

“He asked me not to,” Harry replied.

 

“Why doesn’t he want you to tell them?  I would’ve thought he’d love to rub their noses in it.”  

 

“He has his reasons,” Harry said vaguely, not wanting to risk letting on about Malfoy nearly getting the Dark Mark.  “The main one being a problem with his ego! But I’m sure he’ll get over it, eventually.”

     

“And I’m sure you’ll come up with a way to persuade him…” Luna commented suggestively before continuing on her way to the Ravenclaw tower.

 

Harry waited in the Ancient Runes classroom and absent-mindedly flicked through an old book that he’d picked off a heavy bookcase at the back of the room.   But he wasn’t paying attention to what was on the pages; instead, his mind drifted back to what Luna had said.  Dating?  Him and Malfoy!  The idea was ludicrous.  Malfoy was an obnoxious, self-centred, untrustworthy… Well, in public he was pretty obnoxious, but that was mainly for show, an image he had to maintain for himself as much as for other people.  Harry could also understand him needing to be self-centred when it came to life at Hogwarts—away from his supportive family—or when dealing with things over which he had no choice.  Malfoy had to cut himself off from others because of his family.  He had also proved to be trustworthy, or so Harry hoped.  Harry had shared a lot with him lately, more so than he had ever shared with Ron and Hermione.  But did this actually mean anything?  Was he still just helping Malfoy so that he wouldn’t be tempted to just follow his father’s orders?  Was that all it was?  No, Harry conceded that he now considered Malfoy a friend.  But dating?  Harry had to admit that Malfoy was striking to look at; the whole school knew it, especially Malfoy. 

 

An image came to mind of the way in which Malfoy’s silky hair occasionally fell across his face in that alluring manner, its perpetually immaculate appearance leaving Harry often tempted to reach out and ruffle it so that it resembled his own scruffy mess.  Malfoy also had a cute squat nose—something that Harry would never dare to mention—and angelic eyes that glinted whenever he was getting the upper hand in a verbal sparring match.  Whenever Malfoy was talking, Harry found his direct and focused nature bewitching; he talked about things that interested him with so much animation.  His body, face, and voice would all mirror the emotions inside, while his eyes remained firmly fixed on Harry's, never allowing Harry's attention to wander for a moment—not that Harry ever had the desire to do anything _but_ listen when Malfoy was speaking to him.  When Malfoy spoke he was magnetic, almost flirtatious.  He would give a charismatic grin, and Harry wouldn't be able to restrain from beaming right back at him.  Even when he scowled, Harry thought his features were hypnotic.

 

Harry had never considered Malfoy as someone who was ‘dateable’ before now; he’d finally managed to stop thinking about Oliver Wood and had deliberately avoided considering other people that he might be attracted to.  This wasn’t the same as what he had felt for Oliver, which had been basic appreciation of Oliver’s looks.  This was more than that—a hankering for Malfoy’s company, a desire for both mental and—Harry winced—physical closeness, and Harry had to admit to finding this notion very scary.  _Anyway,_ he reasoned, _I’m sure Malfoy wouldn’t be interested; after all, wasn’t he dating that silly cow Pansy Parkinson not that long ago?_  Harry chuckled at his madness of even entertaining the notion.  What did he think he was going to do?  Ask Malfoy to go out on a date?  As if!

 

Harry snapped out of his reverie as he heard a group of students making their way past the classroom.  Sneaking a look into the corridor, Harry was pleased to see that Quidditch was finally over.  As usual, Malfoy drifted along a little way behind the rest of the Slytherins.  Harry motioned from the doorway and caught Malfoy’s eye.  He felt his breath hitching involuntarily as Malfoy flashed him an amused grin before hanging back even further and then quietly slipping into the classroom.

 

 “What’s up, Potter?” Malfoy asked, noting that Harry was a little ruffled.

 

“Nothing really,” Harry replied defensively, and quickly reminded himself of his original intentions.  “I guess I just wanted to say sorry about today.  About Ron, I mean.  I’d say he’s an insensitive prat, but he’s not really.  He just doesn’t know what’s happened.”

 

“Do you mean to tell me you just risked meeting me here like this to apologise on the Weasel’s behalf?” Malfoy seemed quite tickled by this fact.

 

“I wanted to know if you’re okay,” Harry admitted a little sheepishly.  
  


“I’ve had far worse from you in the past,” Malfoy stated pointedly, trying to give Harry a hard look, but he couldn’t wipe off the smirk that was plastered across his face.  “In fact, I’ve had someone closer to home make a few digs today.”

 

“Who?”

 

“Bulstrode.  She came down to Quidditch practice and grilled me about Longbottom’s toad.  It seems the Weasel’s paranoia has rubbed off on her.  She’s convinced I’ve been planning something since the beginning of term, if not before that.  She was ranting that I was putting my own personal vendettas above the good of the Slytherin house.  As if she’s ever cared about that before!”

 

“Hermione seems to think she’s turned over a new leaf… not unlike what you’ve done.”  Malfoy curled a lip in disgust at this comparison, and Harry laughed.

 

“I still don’t trust her.”  

 

Harry snickered at this.  Just whom did Malfoy trust?  Harry couldn’t help hoping that he’d be on the list.

 

“I can’t help wondering,” Malfoy continued, “if everyone at Hogwarts who has a Death Eater for a parent knows about me.  Perhaps she’s just laying it on thick in order to make my life difficult.  Maybe she’s the one who’s taken that manky toad and is using me as a decoy!  Or perhaps she’s trying to set me up…”

 

“You’re not really the paranoid type, are you?” Harry replied sarcastically.

 

“With a Death Eater as a father?  I couldn’t survive any other way!” Malfoy retorted.

 

At the mention of Lucius, Harry was reminded of his concern for where Malfoy would be staying over the holidays.  

 

“Have you had any thoughts about what you’re going to do when the summer term ends?” Harry asked, watching Malfoy tense up and the barriers draw across his face.  Evidently he didn’t have a contingency plan set up.

 

“I’m relying on you finishing off Voldemort before then.”  

 

“Oh, thanks!” Harry was not impressed that Malfoy seemed to be deadly serious about that.  “As if I need any more pressure!”  

 

“Look, Potter, I really hadn’t thought that far ahead; I don’t want to, either.  If I can’t go home to my family by then, I don’t know what’ll happen.”

 

“If you can’t find anywhere better, I could ask about you staying with me at the Dursleys’.  I know that’d probably be your idea of hell, but we could avoid them a lot of the time.”

 

“Me? Living with three _Muggles_?” Malfoy looked shocked, but Harry could also discern a faint smile.  “I think I’d rather accept an invitation from Voldemort!  Thanks but no thanks, Potter!  It doesn’t sound too safe to me, being around three blundering, wizard-hating Muggles.  Doesn’t it make you an easy target for You-Know-Who?”

 

“There’s a spell that protects me,” Harry explained.  

 

“How? If you expect me to even _consider_ your absurd suggestion, I want to know why it’s so safe.”

 

“It works because my aunt and my mother were related by blood.  Voldemort can’t harm me while I’m there.”

 

“What about those Dementors last year?”

 

“They were sent when I was out of the house.”  

 

Malfoy just stood there for a moment, a slight smirk across his face.  It was clear he was busy thinking, and Harry waited for the next question or revelation to come.  

 

 “If the spell is to do with your aunt, why hasn’t Voldemort just arranged for her to be killed?”

 

Harry shrugged.  “I don’t know.  I hadn’t thought of that.  I guess Voldemort hasn’t thought of it, either. Perhaps he just doesn’t know enough about the spell, or maybe the spell protects her as well…”

 

“So, I’ve been let in on yet another big Potter secret.  I feel almost privileged!”

 

“Does this mean you’re interested in staying?” Harry pressed.

 

“Could be.  But I’m not going to admit to anything until you’ve found out whether it’s definitely okay!”

 

They said their goodbyes, and Harry walked back to Gryffindor tower in a very good mood.  For once in his life, Harry found himself looking forward to staying with the Dursleys.  Malfoy had agreed, in a typically Malfoy fashion, to stay at Privet Drive.  Now all Harry had to do was mention it to Dumbledore.  The headmaster couldn’t say no—after all, where else could Malfoy go? As he snuck back into the dormitory and settled down in his bed, Harry let his thoughts wander to the summer holidays, trying to imagine what life at Privet Drive would be like with Malfoy there.  He had a feeling that Malfoy would have no trouble in sucking up to Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon, and Harry couldn’t wait for any verbal exchanges between Malfoy and Dudley.  Dudley wouldn’t stand a chance—there was no way he was going to get one over on Malfoy!  

 

Two days later, Harry was summoned to the headmaster’s office after dinner.  He had no idea what Dumbledore would want to talk to him about, and he felt quite apprehensive when he entered the familiar room and saw Professor Dumbledore looking at him very solemnly.  So far he hadn’t had the opportunity to speak to Dumbledore regarding Malfoy staying at the Dursleys’, and Harry hoped he’d have the opportunity now.  

 

“Please sit down, Harry.”

 

Harry cautiously perched on the edge of the chair and wondered what was wrong.  He then realised he hadn’t seen Malfoy about that day, and he began to worry that something had happened to him.

 

“I’m afraid I have some bad news for you,” Dumbledore said as he sat across from Harry, peering intently at the boy.  “I just received word that your Aunt Petunia has been killed.  As far as any Muggles are aware, she died in a car crash, but the Ministry of Magic detected something awry when it happened.”

 

Harry sat there, stunned.  Aunt Petunia, killed—and with magic involved, it sounded like it was because of him.  What would happen to Uncle Vernon and Dudley?  What would they do without her? 

 

 “I fear Voldemort was behind the attack, and he has realised that this was one way to circumvent the protection you received from your Aunt.  I don’t think it would be wise for you to return there, Harry.  With the link to your mother gone, you will no longer be protected.  Until we can think of anywhere safer, I’m afraid I must suggest that you stay at Hogwarts over the summer holidays.  We may be able to organise visits to your friends, and you won’t be lonely here as Draco Malfoy will probably be staying as well.”

 

Harry nodded to let the headmaster know that he had heard and understood, but he still couldn’t say anything.  He wanted to know why it had happened now, after all these years.  He had only been discussing this with Malfoy a couple of days ago.  Should he mention this to Dumbledore?  Surely Malfoy wouldn’t have told his father, this had to be just a mere coincidence… He didn’t want to find out that Malfoy had betrayed his confidence; he wanted to carry on trusting Malfoy.  If they stopped meeting up, Harry realised that he would miss Malfoy far too much.  There had to be another explanation.  How could Malfoy have betrayed his trust after all they had shared?  He couldn’t have… Harry just couldn’t believe that Malfoy would do it.  He left Dumbledore’s office in a daze, scuffling along the corridor, shoulders drooping, eyes not focusing on anything, and not wanting to think about what had happened.  He had gone straight to the dormitory afterwards; he sat on his bed staring into space, feeling numb. 

 

It was Neville who had wandered in on him like this.  

 

“Harry, Harry!  Are you okay?”

 

Harry shook his head.  “Aunt Petunia’s dead…”

 

“Oh, Harry, I’m so sorry…” Neville trailed off as Ron came through the door.  “Ron, Harry’s aunt has died…”

 

“Oh, mate… Come on, we’ll get Hermione and go for a walk, get you some fresh air.”

 

 They wandered outside in silence, and when they were away from anyone who might overhear, Harry relayed all that the headmaster had said.  He reflected that he hadn’t confided in either of them this way for a long time.  Malfoy had somehow taken their places, and Harry now appreciated just how much easier he found it to open up to Malfoy than to Ron and Hermione.  

 

On the inside, he winced at the sympathy they gave him.  On the outside, he knew he looked emotionally drained, but not for the reasons Ron and Hermione assumed.  They believed he was upset over Aunt Petunia’s death, when really he was desperately trying to work out how it could have happened without Malfoy betraying him.  Harry was surprised about his own lack of emotions, and he wondered if this made him callous, that he should have at least some sort of anguish regarding his aunt.  Harry guessed that he should feel guilty about this lack of remorse, but he couldn’t even feel that; all he felt was that he needed to talk with Malfoy.  They hadn’t arranged to meet until the weekend, which was two days away, and he couldn’t hunt Malfoy down until that evening without drawing too much attention.  

 

Their conversation on the subject was halted as a group of sixth years passed their way.  They exchanged polite hellos as they passed, and Harry couldn’t help overhearing part of their continued conversation.  Ernie Macmillan observed to Hannah Abbott that Malfoy had looked really pleased with himself over the past couple of days.  The last words that Harry heard Ernie say before they drifted out of earshot were, “I wonder what he’s been up to this time.”

 

Unfortunately, Ron had also heard the remark, and he jumped on it immediately.

 

“Malfoy, of course!  I bet he knows all about it!”

 

“Leave it alone, Ron!” Harry snapped.  “It doesn’t matter what he knows.  It’s not like I can do anything about it now.  It’s too late.”

 

But Ron was adamant, and Hermione didn’t stop him.  She merely added fuel to the fire by agreeing with Macmillan’s comment that Malfoy had definitely seemed more chipper that week.  She added that his attitude would make sense if Malfoy had known that something nasty was going to happen to Harry.  It was just as well they didn’t know about the conversation Harry and Malfoy had shared—if they did, Malfoy would have been hung, drawn and quartered by now.  Harry had been hoping that Malfoy’s improved mood was due to him looking forward to spending the summer with Harry.  As Ron and Hermione continued to point out the questionable motives for Malfoy’s change of behaviour over the whole term, Harry couldn’t stop himself from wondering whether he had made a very big mistake.  Had it been a big act on Malfoy’s part in order to get to Harry?  Had this all been set up from the start, ‘accidentally’ bumping into Malfoy before he was due to receive the Dark Mark, Malfoy confiding supposed secrets to Harry in order to gain his trust, and Malfoy feigning emotional troubles to win over Harry’s sympathy?  Could this really be true? 

 

Harry decided not to seek out Malfoy that evening.  What if they met up and Malfoy did throw it in his face?  Harry didn’t know what he’d do.  He had to admit that, at the moment, it would be a toss up between bawling his eyes out and casting _Avada Kedavra_.  Why did he feel so jilted?  What did he really expect?  This was Malfoy he had trusted.  Harry supposed he deserved everything he got for being such an idiot, but what about Aunt Petunia? Did she deserve what had happened to her?  Did she deserve to have her life put at risk by Harry, for a whim?  Yet again, someone had died just because they had a connection to _him_.

 

 


	7. Catharsis and the Cat

The next morning, Harry didn’t want breakfast.  He didn’t think he could eat, and he certainly didn’t want to see Malfoy sitting on the other side of the hall, gloating, while Ron speculated over how Malfoy obviously knew all about it.  But Neville had pestered him and insisted that he at least try to eat something.  Harry’s unwillingness to go had ended up making him and Neville late.  Ron had gone on ahead with Hermione, not being willing to wait for Harry any longer.  As they entered the hall and made their way to the Gryffindor table, a hush descended upon the other students, and several faces turned to stare at Harry.  Ginny motioned for them to sit next to her.  She was clutching a copy of the Daily Prophet in her hands.

 

“Harry, in the paper…” she began.

 

Harry cut her off.  “I know.”  

 

He didn’t know, but he could guess, and he had no intentions of reading it.  Neville accepted the paper from Ginny with thanks as they sat down.  He began to read, and Harry glanced over towards the Slytherin table.  There was Malfoy, looking his way.  Harry glanced downwards immediately, and he focused on trying to swallow a bite of toast; he didn’t want a confrontation in the hall, didn’t want Malfoy to pull any cheap shots in front of all these people.  He’d finally managed to work the morsel down his throat when someone approached from behind him.  He didn’t bother to look up, not wanting to interact with anyone.

 

“I know how you feel, Harry.” It was Ernie’s voice.  “It’s pretty awful having it in print for the rest of the world to see.  At least when my father died I was able to return home for a few days.  I guess I just wanted to say that if you want to talk about it, let me know.”

 

“Thanks,” he mumbled half-heartedly in reply, looking round at Ernie.  He knew he should be grateful.  Ernie was making a very nice gesture, but Harry wasn’t in the mood for nice gestures, not at that moment.  _I can’t do this,_ he conceded.  He couldn’t sit there, having to converse, with people staring at him— _Malfoy_ staring at him.

 

He made eye contact with the concerned faces that surrounded him at the table and announced he was going back to the common room to be alone for a while.  Neville began to protest, but it soon died on his lips when he saw how resolute Harry was.  Harry pushed himself up from the table, walking out of the Great Hall and up the stairs, away from all those inquisitive eyes, but he didn’t make it as far as the common room.

 

“Potter, wait!”  

 

It was Malfoy.

 

Harry braced himself and turned, finding the strength inside to have it out in the corridors, if necessary.  “What do you want, Malfoy?  Come to gloat?”

 

Malfoy appeared to be surprised at Harry’s reaction.  He frowned and grabbed Harry’s arm, dragging him to a nearby classroom.  Harry, not expecting this from Malfoy, let himself be dragged into the empty room like a doll.

 

“You think I’m responsible for your aunt’s death?” Malfoy asked incredulously, still clutching Harry’s arm a little too tightly.  He looked surprised and a little bit shaken.  

 

Harry shrugged off the unwanted hand and glared back—as Hermione had pointed out yesterday, Malfoy could be a good actor when he wanted to be.  “It’s a bit of a coincidence, don’t you think?”

 

“I was going to spend the summer there with you!” Malfoy protested, and Harry was slightly unnerved by the pleading tone in Malfoy’s voice.  “Do you really think I’d stuff that up?  You know I hadn’t anywhere else to go to.”

 

“Won’t you be returning to your father now that you’ve got back into his good books?” Harry spat back.  

 

“I _didn’t_ do this, Potter!” Malfoy spoke in desperation as he stared at Harry.  When there was no change in Harry’s rigid demeanour, Malfoy turned and slammed his fist onto one of the desks in frustration.  “Listen to me!  I didn’t even realise what had happened until I saw the paper this morning,” he pleaded, his eyes begging Harry to accept what he was saying.  “I don’t know how… I don’t know who… But it wasn’t me.  _Please_ believe me.”

 

Harry slumped to the floor, resting his back against the wall.  “I don’t know what to believe, Malfoy.”  

 

Yesterday, when he had first heard the news, Harry was desperate to think Malfoy hadn’t been responsible.  Then, after talking to Ron, Hermione, and Neville, it had all seemed to become so clear: Malfoy _had_ betrayed him.  Now, Malfoy was here, begging Harry to trust that it wasn’t him; he’d even used the word ‘please’—Harry had never heard that one uttered from Malfoy’s lips before!  _I expected Malfoy to be bragging about what had happened or, at the very least, come up with a reasonable alibi,_ Harry thought. _He hasn’t done either; he seems as surprised about my aunt’s death as I am._

 

“Why should I believe you?” Harry asked.

 

“Because you’re a Gryffindor—that’s what you do.  You give people second chances, and you don’t give up on them!”

 

Harry looked up and studied Malfoy.  He seemed genuine enough: he was frowning intensely, and he looked panicked that Harry might walk out on him.

 

“Trust me, Potter.”  Malfoy sat down opposite him.  “You know me.  If it was my doing, then I’d _definitely_ be bragging about it by now!”

 

Harry couldn’t help looking up and giving Malfoy a weak grin for this comment.  Either Harry really did know Malfoy that well, or Malfoy knew how to play Harry perfectly.  Harry joked to himself that he couldn’t credit the ferret with that much intelligence.  Acknowledging just how important their friendship had become to him, he reminded himself that there was no definite proof that Malfoy had been involved.

 

     Malfoy studied Harry intently, watching as he seemed to wage an internal struggle over Malfoy’s pleading.

 

“Surely this attack can’t have upset you thismuch,” Malfoy pointed out.  “I know you get all guilt-ridden when someone gets hurt at your expense, but… this is your aunt.  You didn’t exactly like her.”

 

“No I didn’t,” Harry replied, surprised by Malfoy’s perceptiveness.  “Hated her would be more like it.  I guess I’m just really pissed off that you could’ve set me up.  You still could be, for all I know, but I don’t think that even you would be _that_ sick!”  They exchanged a warm grin, which sent a fuzzy tingle down into Harry’s stomach.  “I’m also feeling a bit off because everybody else thinks that I should feel something vaguely remorseful, but I don’t.  Nobody else would understand if I told them, and… I don’t think I really do, either.  Why do I always have to be different, Malfoy?  Why can’t I just be _normal_?  I wish I could just have normal reactions to a normal life, with a normal family and a normal girlfriend.”

 

“Like Loony Lovegood, you mean?” Malfoy snickered, and Harry gave a mock glare.  “You certainly were a _hot_ couple at the ball!”

 

“We only went together because we both wanted people to stop speculating who we were going with.  I’m not interested in her like that.”  Harry was reminded of Ron’s disappointment of Harry’s choice of date, and he smirked to himself at the thought of Ron finding out just who Harry had really been interested in.   

 

“So, who was your last _real_ girlfriend?”  Malfoy rubbed his hands together at the prospect of finding out some more juicy gossip about Potter.

 

“Cho Chang, I suppose,” Harry said, dully.  Malfoy’s face fell, clearly disappointed with Harry’s lack of a private life.  “We only ever went on one real date.”

 

“I heard all about that disaster!”  Malfoy smiled at the recollection, and then he turned to study Harry intently.  “But that was over a year ago.  My god, Potter! Are you a Monk?” Malfoy laughed at Harry’s disgruntled expression.  “Hasn’t there been anyone you liked, or did your ‘Gryffindor bravery’ do a runner when it came to approaching them?”

 

“The only person I’ve had an interest in wasn’t exactly accessible,” Harry said, dismissively.  He looked downwards, away from Malfoy’s prying eyes, hoping that Malfoy would accept the vague statement and wouldn’t push for more details.  But he knew it wasn’t likely.

 

“Who was it?” Malfoy immediately asked, his eyes sparkling with the knowledge that he was onto something.

 

“Never you mind!” Harry stubbornly retorted.  

 

He didn’t know if he could do this, have this conversation.  What if he was wrong in assuming Malfoy wasn’t responsible for his aunt’s death? What if he was just setting himself up even further?  But Harry felt reasonably sure that Malfoy had been sincere in his protestations, and after spending so much time thinking about what Lupin had said to him, Harry really wanted to talk about it.  He didn’t feel his conversation with Luna counted, as the information hadn’t been volunteered: she had just guessed about his crush on Oliver Wood and confronted him about it.  He wanted to give this part of himself to Malfoy; he wanted Malfoy to know.  What if Malfoy was disgusted by it?  But this was all academic.  Harry knew that Malfoy would get it out of him one way or another.  There seemed to be a fairly predictable balance of power that had developed between them that term.  Whoever wanted the information was usually the one to get his way: stubbornness was heightened with curiosity.  And so Malfoy persisted.

 

“Don’t you start keeping secrets from me now, Potter!  Not after all we’ve talked about.”

 

Harry searched for some inner courage—and some saliva to wet his suddenly parched mouth.  After everything they had been through, did he seriously think that telling Malfoy about Oliver Wood would be enough for Malfoy to suddenly dismiss what they had? Was Malfoy like that? Harry couldn’t be entirely sure; he could imagine Ron being a bit homophobic after the incident with Ginny, but not Malfoy.  In the end, Harry decided it was silly to keep quiet ‘just in case’ it offended Malfoy.  If Malfoy could get that offended, then was their friendship really that important?  

 

“Oliver Wood,” Harry mumbled as he felt his cheeks burn with embarrassment.

 

Malfoy did a double take before looking at him appraisingly, his eyebrows raised in amusement, “Wood?  Can’t say I was expecting that from you.  So you’re now The Bi Who Lived, eh?  I bet the Weasel doesn’t know about it, not after what happened with Thomas.”

 

“No, he doesn’t.  Anyway, who did you last date?” Harry asked, keen to change the focus of the conversation.

 

“Pansy Parkinson,” Malfoy said, wrinkling his nose in disgust.  “Dense, irritating cow.  I ended that after the ball.  And I’ll let youin on a little secret, Potter: the girl’s a nymphomaniac!  Not that I’d ever put my dick anywhere near her; I guess that’s what irritated me the most…” Malfoy changed his voice to a higher pitch that was deliberately squeaky.  “When are we going to go all the way, Draco, darling?” he imitated, triggering a fit of laughter from Harry.  “I’d sooner put it in Loony Lovegood!  Why is it there are no girls worth even considering in Slytherin? —I guess there’s no point asking your opinion about things like that!”  

 

Harry tried to give Malfoy a condescending look, but he couldn’t prevent an insistent chuckle from escaping.  Malfoy grinned back, amused by Harry’s lack of self-restraint, but then his expression became more serious.

 

     “Why did you so adamantly believe that it was me?” he asked.  

 

Harry was startled by the sudden change of conversation, and it took him a couple of moments to collect his thoughts together—unhappy thoughts that had been briefly, but successfully, forgotten until that moment. 

 

 “I didn’t, not at first.  But we overheard someone mentioning they’d noticed you looked really pleased with yourself over the past couple of days, and Ron just jumped on it.  He was, and still is, convinced that you know exactly what happened to my aunt, and both Hermione and Neville were agreeing with him.  So, after listening to them go on about it, and knowing what we’d talked about, you started to seem a little guilty… You would have thought the same thing about me if our situations had been reversed.”

 

“I guess so,” Malfoy acknowledged.  “So, you’re going to go back to your friends now and listen to them trying to implicate me even further.  It’s not going to turn your mind against me again, is it?”

 

“No, it won’t,” Harry assured him.  “Although it might drive me up the wall at times.  But don’t worry too much, it’s not as if I spend that much time with them anymore…”

 

“So you’ve started to cramp their style; Granger and Weasel only have eyes for each other now?  At least you don’t have the desire to confess all to them.  I was worried for a bit that you’d insist on initiating me into your little gang at some point, along with Bulstrode.”

 

“You would’ve let me tell them?”

 

“No!  I _said_ I was worried that you’d insist; I didn’t say I’d ever agree to it!  I still don’t want anyone to know about this—I can’t risk my father knowing…” Malfoy gave an awkward chuckle.  “I can imagine the look on his face if he found out that I was friends with you!”

 

“Er… Luna knows.”

 

“You told Loony?”

 

“Don’t call her that!” Harry admonished.  “I didn’t tell her.  I bumped into her earlier in the week.  She seems to be more observant than any of the others—she worked it out for herself.  But she thinks that no one else has noticed, and she won’t say anything.”  At Malfoy’s look of disbelief, Harry added, “She never told anyone about Oliver Wood.”

 

“So, I’m not your only confidant then, Potter.  Are you trying to make me jealous, or am I Loo… Luna’s replacement!”  As they grinned at one another, Harry felt heat travel up his neck and spread over his cheeks in a blush.  He was very grateful the room they were in had no windows and that they were in shadows, only having one lamp in the far corner.  “Oliver Wood… I still can’t get over that one!”

 

     The door clicked open, and both boys immediately jumped to their feet in alarm.  To Harry’s relief, it was only Professor Dumbledore.

 

     “I think you two might want to move along now.  Classes are due to start shortly, and I believe the second years will be coming in here for their Transfigurations lesson.”

 

     Harry smiled gratefully at the headmaster, while Malfoy stood there still in shock.  They’d both forgotten all about lessons and the fact that breakfast would’ve been over by now.  Dumbledore gave them a warm smile before turning away and walking down the corridor.  Malfoy looked at Harry, letting out a big sigh.

 

“I guess Dumbledore’s all right, really,” Malfoy said with a grin.  “I’ll see you tomorrow night, Potter.  Room of Requirement, as usual?”

 

“Yeah, see you later, Malfoy,” Harry mumbled, his head swimming from Malfoy’s grin.

 

Harry rushed back to the dormitory to grab his books.  As he went he tried to put the image of Malfoy’s face out of his mind and think about Dumbledore instead.  How did Dumbledore know they were there?  Had Dumbledore just been keeping an eye on him since the news about Aunt Petunia, or had he been watching them ever since Harry and Malfoy had begun talking?  Did he know what had been said to Malfoy about the Dursleys?   _If he does, then he would’ve said something by now,_ Harry reassured himself.  _Or, he would have if he thought it was relevant; perhaps he knows, and_ he _doesn’t believe Malfoy had anything to do with it, either._

 

The rest of the day passed painfully slowly for Harry.  He was still being fussed over by the other Gryffindors, and he was finding lessons with the Slytherins particularly frustrating, wanting to work with Malfoy instead of finding himself stuck with Seamus all the time.  Instead of sitting with Malfoy publicly, Harry would have to impatiently wait for the following evening, when they could spend more time together, uninterrupted.  At lunchtime, Harry was surprised when Ron made a point of sitting next to him and being quite chatty.  But Ron soon let it slip that he was after the Marauder’s Map.  He was planning some ‘real privacy’ with Hermione the following evening.

 

“I’m sorry, Ron.  I lost it a couple of weeks ago.  I haven’t been able to find it.”  Harry felt awful about lying, but he knew he couldn’t risk lending it to Ron.  Not when he was regularly meeting up with Malfoy.

 

“Lost the map?  Oh, Harry, you idiot!”  Ron remained silent for a few moments, thinking, before he asked, “Do you think we’d be all right in the Room of Requirement?”

 

Harry nodded mutely, whereas inside he was highly frustrated.  _Damn not being able to tell Ron or Hermione.  I’ll have to send a note to Malfoy to meet me somewhere else._

 

Things between Ron and Hermione, and himself had only deteriorated the following evening; he had managed to get into an argument with Hermione over dinner.  It had started innocuously enough, with Neville asking what Harry was going to do over the holidays.  Ron looked a bit abashed that he hadn’t thought to ask Harry that question yet.

 

“I suppose you could always stay with us,” Ron offered—almost begrudgingly, Harry felt.  “Why don’t you ask Dumbledore?” 

 

“He’s already said that I should stay here,” Harry replied rather awkwardly.  It felt odd that any other year he would’ve jumped at the chance to spend all summer at The Burrow.  Now, it was enough to know that he still had Malfoy for company.  “I guess I’ll just have to wait and see what comes up by the time the holidays start.”

 

“I bet Malfoy won’t be able to resist a dig if he finds out you’ve got to stay at Hogwarts.”

 

Harry was sorely tempted to say, ‘he already knows,’ but he bit his tongue, saying nothing.

 

“Millicent still thinks he’s up to something,” Neville added.  

 

Harry tensed, not wanting want to listen to this.  He wasn’t interested in any more anti-Malfoy propaganda.

 

“Why do you trust Millicent so much?” he asked.  Those who sat by him stopped eating, and they looked at him in disbelief.  “How do you know that she isn’t just planning something herself?”

 

“Harry!” Hermione chided. “How can you say that, especially in front of Neville?  Everyone knows Millicent’s changed!  Half of Slytherin aren’t talking to her anymore because of it.”

 

“ _She_ says she’s changed, but it doesn’t mean anything.  You wouldn’t trust someone like Malfoy, if he claimed the same thing, so why do you believe her?  Why does she feel it necessary to continually imply Malfoy’s up to something, when he hasn’t done anything since Christmas?”

 

“Oh, come on, Harry.  Get real!” Hermione’s voice now had a definite edge of anger to it.  “As if Malfoy would ever change!  The only reason you haven’t noticed how different Millicent has become is because you don’t bother talking to her.  You could try making an effort with her, Harry.  I think it’s a bit much, accusing her like that, when you haven’t even taken the opportunity to get to know her.” 

 

Hermione, having finished her dinner at this point, stood up to leave.  “I never realised you could be like this, Harry.  Come on, Ron.” 

 

Later on that evening, he drifted down the corridors towards his meeting point with Malfoy, cloak and map in hand, still stewing over the silly argument.  Why didn’t he stop himself from questioning Millicent’s motives?  It was obvious that there was no point bothering in the first place. But then again, why did Millicent insist on going on about Malfoy, convinced he was up to something?  What was _she_ up to?  His train of thought ground to a halt as he bumped into Luna, who was walking towards her own common room.  He pulled the cape off and mumbled an apology.

 

“I don’t need three guesses to know who you’re going to meet!” she joked.

 

Harry smiled warmly at her.  She was a welcome face after the earlier conversation.  “Yes, I’m going to see Malfoy,” he admitted. 

 

“So have you and Draco come to your senses and started dating yet?  You’d make a very dashing couple.”

 

Apart from the automatic blush, Harry didn’t get the chance to respond to this.  Snape had appeared from around the corner and was now looming over them.

 

“Isn’t it time the pair of you got back to your own common rooms, instead of childishly gossiping in the corridors?”  He glared at both of them before fixing a steely gaze on Harry.  “And I’d appreciate it if you’d stick to corrupting students from your own house.  As if Draco Malfoy would be interested in you in _that way_!”  Snape spat this last point out at Harry, making him want to die on the spot out of embarrassment.  Snape waited for a moment before rounding on them once more.  “Well, why are the two of you _still_ here?” he snapped.

 

They both jumped and scurried off—Harry pretending to go back to the Gryffindor Tower, but slipping his cloak back on as soon as he was out of Snape’s sight.  He then made his way to his original destination.  Tonight they had decided to try out the Muggle Studies classroom; this was a good distance away from any of the staff rooms, and hopefully, no one would bother them.  

 

As he walked, Harry’s thoughts about Snape were racing.  _He didn’t seem that surprised about me and Malfoy_ — _although he clearly doesn’t like it!  I bet he hasn’t said anything in lessons because of Malfoy’s situation with Lucius.  I wonder how he knows..._ Harry was aware that Snape knew of Malfoy’s refusal to have the Dark Mark, and that Snape had been watching over Malfoy at the beginning of the term, but he found it hard to believe that Snape had willingly chosen not to interfere in their friendship.  _Unless Professor Dumbledore has said something…_ _I suppose this probably falls under Order of the_ _Phoenix_ _business now…_

When Harry arrived, Malfoy was already there and busily going through an open cupboard that was full of Muggle artefacts.

 

“You’re early,” Harry stated as he wandered over to sit on an adjacent desk.

 

“Yeah, got bored in the common room.  How’s life with the Gryffindorks?”

 

“A bit stormy.  Apparently, Millicent has been spreading more gossip about you.”

 

“Silly cow.”  Malfoy turned round to face Harry, waving an egg whisk about as he spoke, and using it to punctuate what he was saying.  “ _I_ don’t see how anyone can trust Bulstrode.  She’s never been friendly with Gryffindorks before; it all seems a bit fishy, if you ask me.  And I reckon she does know about me turning down the Dark Mark—she’s trying to stir up trouble to make my life as awkward as possible.”

 

“I think you manage to do that fine by yourself!”

 

“Oh, you’re _so_ witty, Potter.  My life would be _so_ dull without you… Anyway, why does Bulstrode’s continual hatred of me make it stormy?”

 

“I made the mistake of asking why they trusted Millicent so much…”

 

“I bet they didn’t like that… oops.” The whisk had snapped, and Malfoy hastily shoved it back into the cupboard.  “Neville won’t be speaking to you when he finds out.”

 

“He was there—it was when we were having dinner.”

 

“Nice one, Potter!” Malfoy laughed, and he pulled himself up to sit on the desk next to Harry.  The whole side of Harry’s body began to warm up where it was in contact with Malfoy; he felt his stomach flip over.  “Pity I couldn’t have sat at your table for a change.  It’s a shame I had to miss that!  This ‘keeping things a secret’ lark does have its disadvantages.”

 

“Perhaps we could mention it to a couple of people…”

 

“Two words, Potter: my father.  Anyway, I don’t like all and sundry knowing my business.  I prefer to keep it so nobody knows.”

 

“I bet you would.  Don’t forget Luna, though!  I bumped into her on the way up here tonight… and, er… Snape overheard us talking…”

 

Malfoy started at the mention of Snape.  He jumped back down from the table and wheeled round to look at Harry in alarm.  “Tell me you’re joking, Potter.”  Harry shook his head.  “He heard you—shit… What _exactly_ were you saying?”

 

“He mostly overheard Luna,” Harry stated, feeling his face begin to redden as he remembered what it was that she had said.  “And before I say this, I’d like to point out that it’s just something she’s come up with by herself…. It’s nothing that I’ve suggested…  After my thing for Oliver, well she…”

 

“Bloody hell, Potter, stop waffling and just spit it out!”

 

“First she asked if I was meeting you, tonight.  Then she wanted to know whether we’ve ‘come to our senses’ yet and started dating… Snape appeared at that point and gave us hell for loitering.  Then he told me I should ‘stick to corrupting students from my own house’.”

 

“And Snape overheard all of that?” Malfoy asked, in disbelief, the colour slowly draining from his face in direct contrast to Harry’s beetroot complexion.

 

“I think so,” Harry nodded.  “You look like you’re going to be sick.”

 

“I think I am.”

 

“Surely it’s not that much of a problem?”  _Of course,_ Harry realised.  _He doesn’t know about Snape…But I can’t tell him, can I? Dumbledore would probably flip if he found out…_

 

“You can be so stupid sometimes, Potter.”  Malfoy was beginning to pace the room now, occasionally kicking a table leg in frustration.  “He’s going to tell my father that I’m _friends_ with _you_.”

 

“I don’t think he will…”

 

“How can you remain so bloody blinkered for five and a half years?”

 

Harry just looked at him blankly.  _I can’t let Malfoy think that his father is going to find out… But it would definitely be going too far to tell him outright about Snape… What do I do?_   

 

“Potter, Snape’s a _Death Eater_ ,” Malfoy snapped.  He stopped wandering now and came over to sit on the desk opposite Harry; Malfoy’s shoulders had sagged, his face weary, and his tone now dissonant and imbued with worry.  “He’ll really _enjoy_ telling my father.  And you know my father will go ballistic over this—he _hates_ you.  You get in the way of You-Know-Who’s plans.  You freed our house-elf.  You helped to get him into Azkaban.  He blames you for what happened to him when he got out—and believe me, that was one _shit_ experience… I’ve already let him down and disappointed him as it is—when I chose not to have the Dark Mark.  Befriending the _despised Harry Potter_ will only make things worse between us…”

 

He trailed off and dropped his head.  Harry desperately wanted to comfort Malfoy, to hold him, but he felt too nervous to reach out and touch the dejected Slytherin.

 

 “I miss my father, and I still haven’t heard from him.  I don’t even know if he’ll ever look at me in the same way again, anyway.  And when he finds out about _us_ being friends…” Malfoy’s voice sounded thick with emotion.  He sniffed, and Harry caught sight of a drop of liquid as it fell from Malfoy’s chin.  Malfoy was crying.  

 

He didn’t think twice about comforting Malfoy now; in an instant he was standing in front of Malfoy and holding him.  Harry had never imagined that Malfoy could be capable of crying, and he wondered if perhaps this was the first time that Malfoy had ever been moved to tears.  Malfoy didn’t resist, allowing Harry to pet him and moving his own arms around Harry’s waist.  Malfoy held on tightly, and Harry felt wetness soak into the shoulder of his robes.  Malfoy wasn’t completely letting go—Harry supposed that Malfoy could never do that—but he let his emotions just seep out at the edges.  It was like watching the water gradually trickle through the overflow of a bath, and Harry just wanted to pull the plug to let all of Malfoy’s concerns drain away.  Harry resisted the instinct to tense up at the feeling of Malfoy grasping on so firmly, although he couldn’t stop the sensation of dizziness.  He held on and gently stroked a hand over the back of Malfoy’s head, willing his unwelcome hardness to disappear and trying to concentrate on what Malfoy might be going through.  Having turned his back on his own family, not having anyone other than Harry to turn to at school, and now risking upsetting his own father even more, Harry could understand how Malfoy could be scared of not having anything left.  _No,_ Harry firmly told himself.  _He’ll still have me.  I’m not going to leave him._   

 

“Malfoy, I’m sure Snape won’t bring it up with your father…He’s…” Harry faltered.  He knew he shouldn’t be saying this, but he also knew where his loyalties now lay—and they certainly didn’t lie with Snape.  “Look… I can’t believe I’m considering telling you this… I’m not _supposed_ to mention it… But I really don’t think he’ll tell your father.  And he might not be able to show it, but I believe that he’s actually pleased you chose to stay at Hogwarts—even though he doesn’t think much of our friendship, and that’s only because he doesn’t think much of me!  Can you just trust me on this?  I want to tell you the details, but…”

 

Malfoy lifted his head up, and Harry let his hand slide down to Malfoy’s shoulder.  Malfoy looked at Harry and gave a weak smile, his face glistening wet in patches.  

 

“That two-faced sneak is working for Dumbledore, isn’t he?” Malfoy chuckled weakly, and Harry smiled back, relieved that he could feel Malfoy beginning to relax.  He then frowned when Malfoy’s composure stiffened once more.  

 

“Potter… all the time we’re friends there’s a risk that it’s going to get out… I don’t want to screw things up with my father, but—shit, Potter, I can’t believe _you’ve_ got me saying this—I think that, right now, I… need you.  I’ve never needed any of my friends before…”

 

Harry’s jaw dropped involuntarily.  The desire to just lean across those few inches separating them and kiss Malfoy was almost too strong to resist.  _Just say something…_ Harry told himself in a panic.  _Say something, and then you won’t risk ‘doing’ something you could regret._

 

 “Well…” Harry started off tentatively.  _What can I say?_ _Something that will reassure him, I guess…_ “If it ever does get out about us—being friends—just remember you’re not alone, Malfoy: I’ll still be here.  I know I’m not your father, but I…” 

 

Harry was cut off short as Draco suddenly leant forward, brushing his lips against Harry’s stunned mouth.  _He’s kissing me,_ Harry thought. _I’m being kissed by Malfoy…_ He realised that he should be participating as well, but then Malfoy pulled back, glancing nervously at Harry’s bewildered expression.  Harry could feel the hands gradually retreating from his back. _He thinks I’m not interested…_ Harry realised. _I’d better put him right about that._

 

“Sorry, Potter, I jus…” Malfoy began to back-peddle, but Harry interrupted him. 

     

“Please don’t be sorry,” he said gently before leaning in to lightly press his mouth to Malfoy’s. 

 

His lips tentatively moved against Malfoy’s, his body shuddering involuntarily as he felt Malfoy’s lips push back in response.  Malfoy took the lead, kissing more firmly and tugging on Harry’s lips—to which Harry eagerly responded, parting them slightly and letting his tongue enter the foray, sweeping it against Malfoy’s.  It was wet, Harry acknowledged.  Like the kiss with Cho, he could feel Malfoy’s damp face against his; but this made him feel more connected to Malfoy, whereas Cho crying over Cedric had just made that moment feel awkward.  And this time, Harry was an active participant.  It wasn’t just a kiss that was happening to him; it was a kiss that he was a part of.  He could taste Malfoy—slightly sweet with an underlying metallic tang; he could feel Malfoy—exploring and tasting Harry’s own mouth inquisitively.  Drawing back slightly, their breathing heavier than before, they both looked at each other with eyes sparkling and cautious smiles making their appearance.  Harry couldn’t stop his from turning into a frantic beam, which Malfoy returned.  

 

“God, Potter…” Malfoy laughed.  “What _are_ we doing?”

 

“Digging our own graves?” Harry shrugged, not caring what it meant for the moment; only knowing that he was feeling ecstatically happy.

 

They both sniggered at his comment before leaning in once more.  This time the kiss soon became more heated, and Harry held on tightly, purposefully moving a hand back up to Malfoy’s head to ruffle that impeccable hair.  Malfoy’s arms moved slowly and firmly around him, pushing their bodies together.  Then, without warning, Harry felt Malfoy sink within his grip.  The table was tipping over, and it came down with an almighty CRASH!

 

     “Shit!” Malfoy exclaimed as Harry pulled him upright.  They looked at each other gravely, both knowing that somebody probably would have heard the noise.  

 

     Harry pulled the Marauder’s Map out of his pocket and scanned it to see who was nearby.  

 

     “Filch is on his way over.  He’ll be here in a minute.”  Harry picked his cloak up from the desk behind him and pulled it over both of them.

 

     Under the cloak, Harry grabbed Malfoy’s hand, steering him out the door and along the corridor in the opposite direction of Filch.  They kept going until they came upon the stairs that led down to the dungeons.

 

“I guess we should be going back to our common rooms…” Harry stated, a little disappointed that evening had come to an early end.

 

“Yeah, it probably won’t be safe with Filch on the alert,” Malfoy acknowledged before giving Harry a mischievous look.  “I can’t believe I’ve let myself be pulled by Harry Potter!”

 

“It seemed to me that you were the one doing the pulling.”

 

Malfoy’s expression turned into a Mona Lisa smile as he caught a look of expectation in Harry’s eye.  They both stared at each other, wanting.  Only moments passed before Harry decided he couldn’t wait any longer; he placed his hands on Malfoy’s waist and pulled Malfoy close, pressing their lips together.  Harry could feel a hand snaking its way across his back, another playing with the short tufts of hair at the nape of his neck.  He gasped around Malfoy’s mouth before deepening the kiss.  When they finally broke off, they still held on to each other, refusing to move their bodies any further apart.

 

 “Are you sure you’re not doing this as part of an insidious scheme of yours—just to try and set me up?” Harry jested at the dishevelled Slytherin still hidden under his cloak.

 

“And people say _I’m_ too self-absorbed!  I’d love to say that was true, but I bet the other Slytherins would kill for a piece of gossip like _this_.” Malfoy leant in and placed a row of kisses along Harry’s jaw-line before gently whispering by his ear: “Do you want to meet up tomorrow?”

     

     “I think I could cope with that,” Harry responded with a gasp.  “But we need to go somewhere more private.”

 

     “Why, have you got _nasty_ plans for me, Potter?” Malfoy asked wickedly, his eyes glinting.

 

     Harry blushed, realising how it had sounded.  “Malfoy!  I mean… I don’t… Stop grinning at me like that!  You can be such a bastard at times.”

 

     “You love it!”

 

     “What I _meant_ was… if someone turned up when we were only chatting, at least we could’ve pretended to have been arguing.  I don’t think that’ll wash if anyone catches us kissing.”

 

     “Is Weasel going to be shagging in the Room of Requirement again?”

 

“Malfoy! If you can’t call him Ron, then call him Weasley—not Weasel! I’ll find out about the room.  If he is using it, perhaps I could sneak you up to the dorm…”

     

“Absolutely no way am I putting myself at the mercy of the Gryffindorks!  You’ll just have to abstain and try your hardest to resist my charms, if that’s the only option! Or we could just stay under here all evening...” Malfoy motioned to the cloak, and he managed to imply all manner of dirty things just through a brief raising of the eyebrows.  He then leant in to slowly drag his lips upwards along Harry’s throat, causing a jolt of electricity to shoot up Harry’s spine.  Harry closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath, leaning his head to one side to give Malfoy better access. 

 

“Are you going to keep your eyes on the map then?” Harry muttered distractedly.  “Imagine if Snape walked into us—that would take some explaining!”

 

     “You find out about Weasel-lee,” Malfoy responded in between kisses that gently tugged at the skin.  “And if he is planning to use the room, then I’ll work on getting him a detention.”

 

     “Malfoy!” Harry chastised, giving Malfoy a shove.  “Don’t you dare! I’ll think of something, okay?”

 

     After being reacquainted with each other’s mouths once more, they reluctantly parted, finally going their own separate ways.  Harry wandered back in a daze—he had been kissing Malfoy!  He felt warm inside and content.  He also needed a bit of private relief.  Had Malfoy noticed?  If he had, he didn’t seem to have minded.  Harry tried to recollect whether Malfoy had reacted as strongly, but all he could remember were Malfoy’s lips and arms—where the rest of their bodies had connected was just a melded blur of heat.  As he let his mind meander over the evening’s events, a memory came back to him from the previous term: when he had spoken to Professor Lupin about Oliver Wood, and Lupin had differentiated between attraction and affection.  _Is this what he meant by feeling ‘affection’ for someone?_ Harry wondered, and he went over Lupin’s words in his mind: ‘As for affection, well that comes from _knowing_ another person, and when you feel it, don’t ever let others stop you from having it.’  _I certainly have no intention of letting anyone spoil this,_ Harry asserted.

 

Back in the common room, there were still students milling about, talking and studying.  To Harry’s surprise, both Hermione and Ron were present; Hermione was in tears, and Ron didn’t look very happy, either.  What had gone wrong?

 

“Harry, where have you been?” Ron demanded.

 

“I… I’ve been out for a walk,” Harry stammered, wondering whether it showed what he had really been up to.  Was his hair ruffled?  Were his lips too rosy and full?  Did he have ‘I’ve just been kissing Malfoy’ written all over his face?  “What’s up?” he added, as nonchalantly as he could.

 

“Before we went out, Hermione noticed that Crookshanks was missing.”  Ron explained.  He looked fed up, and Harry suspected it was because his plans—getting an evening alone with Hermione—had been disrupted, rather than any real feelings towards the cat.  “We’ve been searching instead, _all_ evening.  All we’ve found so far was some of his fur in a corridor that leads down to the dungeons.”

 

“Crookshanks never goes down there,” Hermione sobbed.  “He always stays around the corridors in Gryffindor tower.”

 

     Harry sat with them for a while.  After the evening he’d spent with Malfoy, and now having to come back to this situation, he couldn’t help feeling a little deflated.  It was too late to continue searching Hogwarts, and there was nothing else anyone could do to help until the next day.  So he sat there, making a show of being supportive while internally musing how easily Ron and Hermione could’ve stumbled upon him and Malfoy in their search for the cat.  He especially didn’t want them to find out now, not after this evening’s surprising developments.

 


	8. In the Absence of the Full Mooon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Harry/Draco moment in this chapter was inspired by this lovely picture: http://www.geocities.ws/sheepybunbuns/HPatDES/hearth.jpg  
> It was drawn by the wonderful Theban Band and more of their work is here: http://www.squidge.org/~praxisters/

Harry woke early the following morning.  Instead of feeling frustrated that he should still be sleeping at that time on a Saturday, he lay in bed in a sleepy haze, remembering the events of the previous evening.  He kept playing the scenes over in his head as his fingers drifted lazily across his belly and further downwards.  Those soft lips melding into his own; the feel of soft fine hair as he ran his fingers through it; the sensation of broomstick-roughened hands playing at the back of his neck; arms wrapped around him, holding him tight as he felt Malfoy under his own hands; the heat from their combined bodies; and when Malfoy had started to kiss his neck…

 

“For crying out loud, Harry!” Ron shouted at him in a drowsy slur.  “Go and do that in the shower—we don’t want to hear you moaning and groaning first thing in the morning!”

 

Harry blanched, jerking his hand away from his painfully hard erection, mortified that he had been so verbal with his fantasy.  He muttered a feeble apology before padding out to the showers to finish what he had started, in peace.

 

He wasn’t able to meet up with Malfoy on Saturday, as they had originally planned, because Snape had given Harry a detention Saturday night.  Snape had caught Harry in one of the classrooms whilst he was helping Hermione look for Crookshanks, lecturing him on not entering the rooms outside of lesson times.  Harry bitterly noted that Snape hadn’t given anyone else a detention—even though it was obvious that several students were participating in the search.  So Harry ended up stuck in the potions lab, with Snape glaring at him, having to scrub cauldrons without the use of magic until the early hours of the morning.

 

  When he arrived at the Room of Requirement on Sunday evening, he found that the room had changed slightly.  The two chairs that were usually present were missing.  Instead, Malfoy was sprawled out on a large, plump sofa that had an extra-wide seat—almost the size of a single bed—but with arms and a low back to it.  

 

“We’ve been upgraded—and we can lock the door now!  I _was_ hoping for a bed, but I guess this’ll have to do…” Malfoy jested.  “I bet this room’s been rigged by Dumbledore so that it doesn’t do beds!”  Malfoy sat up and made a space next to him that Harry eagerly filled. 

 

“If that was the case, I don’t think we would have got the lock, either,” Harry commented.  

 

They chatted about neutral topics for a while, such as Quidditch and homework, testing the waters to see how things would develop between them.  Harry’s breath frequently hitched at Malfoy’s expressive mannerisms and the occasional sideways glance that Malfoy made through his fringe as it fell across his face.  Harry soon found it difficult to concentrate on the conversation.  Catching the look of distraction on Harry’s face, Malfoy trailed off to flash Harry a beaming smile and raise his eyebrows in a way that Harry found positively scandalous: Harry’s stomach flipped.  

 

Catching his breath, Harry cautiously leant forward to kiss Malfoy, still a bit worried that he might have had a change of heart since Friday.  To his relief Malfoy confidently kissed him back.  Harry reached out a hand and ran it along Malfoy’s shoulders, pulling their bodies closer together and letting the softness of Malfoy’s robe run under his fingers.  He let his hands wander, exploring the entirety of Malfoy’s back, feeling the outline of muscles through the layers of clothing.  In response, Malfoy wrapped both his arms around Harry and began kissing him fervently.  Harry’s head started to swim.  It was hard to work out where he ended and Malfoy began.  He heard a noise of contentment escape from his mouth, and he felt heat filling his groin.  This was too intense; he needed to calm down. 

 

 “I could do with a bed,” Harry said breathlessly as he pulled back slightly.  He then blushed, as he knew exactly how Malfoy would take it.

 

“Because you _do_ have nasty plans for me…”

 

“Because I’m _tired_ ,” Harry clarified hastily.  “What with detention last night, Quidditch this morning, and the rest of the day chasing round looking for Hermione’s cat, ‘absolutely shattered’ is probably a better description.”

 

“At least you didn’t get another detention tonight.  Snape’s really got it in for you, hasn’t he!” Malfoy laughed.  “You know, I’ve been thinking back over what Snape’s been like since it was decided that I should get the Dark Mark.  It’s pretty obvious, in hindsight.  All those times he’s been telling me I could trust him and to talk to him about it, he was just trying to get me to admit I didn’t want it.  I guess it’s really put his nose out of joint that you’re the one who persuaded me not to have it; the one who I ended up trusting!”

 

“If he’d given me another detention tonight I think I would have ended up in the hospital wing!” Harry joked, half-serious.  “Still, it might have gotten me out of that Potions project...”

 

Harry was referring to coursework Snape had given them the previous week that needed to be finished by the end of the summer term.  It was for a coagulation potion for treatment of internal bleeding.  Snape had listed the ingredients that they would need; the project involved working out the amounts of the ingredients required and how they would need to be prepared.  

 

“You’re worried about the project? It’s not that hard, Potter. It just involves reading a few books.  Surely reading’s not that big a deal—even for a Gryffindor!”

 

“Reading books isn’t a problem; it’s just that I had enough trouble with potions when I knew what I had to do with the ingredients.”

 

“Well, if you get stuck, I suppose I could help.  But not until you’ve had a decent go of it; you might surprise yourself.”

 

“Do you realise that you’re starting to sound like Hermione?”

 

     Malfoy raised his eyebrows, less than pleased with Harry’s observation.  “No comment, on the grounds that it could do irreparable damage between us…  Just _don’t_ even consider saying anything that libellous again!”

 

     Faced with Harry in the midst of a titanic yawn, Malfoy pulled a cushion from behind his back and laid it on his lap.  “Come on, lie down, you pathetic creature.”  

 

     Harry chuckled and spread himself across the sofa, wrapping his arms around Malfoy’s waist and snuggling his face into Malfoy’s belly.  He lay there as Malfoy toyed with his hair and traced the outlines of his facial features, listening to Malfoy talking about his latest Quidditch practise.  After a while, Harry was no longer able to pay attention to the details, only to the melodious rise and fall of Malfoy’s lilting voice.  He felt very relaxed and drowsy, and it wasn’t long before he fell asleep.

 

     He awoke to the sound of a slow rhythmic heavy breathing, half-smothered by a warm body.  Malfoy had also fallen asleep and had managed to lay half-on, half-off the sofa with his legs dangling free, and he was leaning across Harry’s frame, his face resting on Harry’s hip.  The room was in shadow, the coals on the fire being nearly burnt out.  

 

     “Malfoy,” Harry whispered, shaking him gently.  “Malfoy, you’re drooling on my trousers!”

 

     Malfoy’s eyes pinged open, and he looked around for a moment, disorientated.

 

     “Shit, what time is it Potter?”

 

     “I’ve no idea,” Harry said, giving Malfoy a shove so they could both sit up.  “I guess we should be getting back.”

 

     When he arrived back at the dorm, Harry was shocked that it was already half past three.  At least I spent some of the time sleeping, he mused as he closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep for the second time that evening.

 

The next day, Harry was quite content to work his way through lessons in a sleepy haze.  He had arranged to meet up with Malfoy again that evening, and he hoped they would have the chance to enjoy each other’s company more, instead of just Harry falling asleep.  Unfortunately, he had potions, and Snape was feeling particularly venomous—due to a jar of bezoars having been stolen from Snape’s office the night before.  He had found the jar and all of the bezoars, minus one, in the Slytherin common room that morning, but he was not ruling out Gryffindor intervention.  He pointedly looked Harry’s way several times as he ranted about the theft.  Harry knew that another detention was inevitable, and Snape did not fail to meet Harry’s expectations.

 

Ron equated finding the bezoars in the Slytherin common room with Malfoy, and Millicent was very eager to encourage this, letting everyone know she’d seen him walking towards the potions classroom the previous evening.  In silent rebellion, Harry half-heartedly blamed the theft on Millicent.  Seeing as he was using Malfoy as a pillow at the time of the theft, he knew it couldn’t have been Malfoy.  It was very frustrating that he couldn’t say anything—he couldn’t exactly point out Malfoy hadn’t been walking towards the potions classroom but towards the Room of Requirement. 

 

Harry hoped that he might be able to meet up with Malfoy at lunch, in an empty classroom, but he didn’t get the chance.  Crookshanks was still missing, and Hermione had decided to spend some time carrying out research in the library, believing that his disappearance might be linked to that of Pig and Trevor.  Harry couldn’t come up with a reason not to join them, and he found that his company was welcome now that he could help Hermione and Ron with finding out more information on potions.  

 

“Hermione, what exactly are you hoping to find?” Harry asked, not understanding anymore what they were going to achieve by spending all this time wading through books.

 

They had begun to look through the Restricted Section, and because of this, the number of potions they had come across was _still_ close to forty—all requiring elf owl feathers, parts of toad, and parts of cat, specifically ginger cat.  Hermione had been close to tears when reading about the different cat parts used in some of the potions. 

 

Hermione dragged her eyes away from the heavy tome she was currently absorbed in. 

 

“The reason why our animals were taken,” she replied.  “You know that.”

 

“Yes, but what are you going to do once you find out?  It’s not as if we could do anything with that information.  And so far, we still haven’t been able to narrow it down any further, anyway.  Even if we did, I don’t understand how it would benefit us to know exactly which one it is.  It’s probably either a potion-alternative to a transfiguration spell, or one used as an alternative to a full moon…”

 

“Sorry,” Ron interrupted in confusion.  “I still don’t get the full moon ones…”

 

Ignoring Harry’s query, Hermione turned to Ron to give him an explanation.  “They’re used to brew certain plants so they don’t have to be picked under the full moon when this is specified for other potions,” she began, but Ron was still looking a bit bewildered.  “For example, if we had known about them in the second year we could’ve completed the Polyjuice Potion a lot quicker.  The fluxweed had to be picked at full moon, but if we’d prepared… say this potion,” Hermione pointed to a potion on the page she had been reading.  “Then we could’ve picked the fluxweed at any time and just brewed it for…” she studied the book.  “Forty-five minutes in this potion before adding it to the Polyjuice.”

 

“Oh, I see,” Ron said, having caught on.  “So, why does any plant have to be picked under the full moon then, when you can use these potions?”

 

“I’m not sure that they work on _all_ plants,” Hermione speculated.  “And the full-moon potions all seem to be relatively new.  They’ve only been developed in the past fifteen years or so; a lot of the spell books we use were written before these alternatives were available.”

 

“But Hermione,” Harry said, stubbornly persisting with his previous question.  “What help is it going to be if we manage to narrow it down to any of the potions we’ve listed so far?”

 

“Maybe, if we can find out the potion, we could work out who might be responsible,” she insisted feebly.  

 

Harry did feel for Hermione; he knew she felt partly responsible for letting Crookshanks get taken—even though there wasn’t anything that she could have done to stop it from happening.  It was obvious she was just waiting for a clue to jump out at her, but for once, research didn’t seem to be telling her the answers that Hermione was hoping for.  _But what else_ can _she do?_ Harry guessed that it just made her feel better about losing Crookshanks if she thought she could be doing something to help.  So Harry continued to play along to appease Hermione’s sense of frustration.  

 

As he carried on looking through books, he discovered an interesting transfiguration potion that also required the use of a bezoar; the potion was designed to change an animagus to animal form involuntarily.  The bezoar removed the poisons inherent in the potion that would otherwise kill the animagus.  He pointed it out to the others, and then immediately wished he hadn’t.  Mentioning the bezoar only reminded Ron of his chief suspect.  Harry sat there, not daring to respond, as he listened to Ron listing all the things he was going to do to Malfoy once he had proof that Malfoy had taken Crookshanks and Pig. 

 

Over the next couple of weeks, Snape made it abundantly clear he didn’t appreciate Malfoy’s choice of company in Harry.  He continued to make it as difficult as possible for Harry to spend time with Malfoy, giving Harry detentions at every opportunity and dragging out the Occlumency lessons as late as he could.  During Occlumency, Harry got the impression that Snape was making a concerted effort to break through Harry’s barriers to find out about their relationship.  In response, Harry worked even harder during his lessons, hoping that Snape would never find out just how well he and Malfoy were getting along now.  

 

He still managed to get together with Malfoy—especially over the Easter holidays when Harry was able to avoid Snape completely.  And although Ron and Hermione did use the Room of Requirement on a couple of occasions, Harry and Malfoy were often able to use the room, enabling them to make the most of the little time they had with a sense of undisturbed privacy.  Harry found it very refreshing to have someone with whom he could relax so completely; it left him feeling very contented to have a warm body that he could snuggle up to in the evenings.  He’d never experienced anything like this before, and he was a bit baffled that he had become so close to someone who threatened to kill him only last year.  When they were alone, they frequently lost all sense of time, often arriving back at their dorms between three and four in the morning.  After nights like these, Harry found it difficult to keep awake during lessons, and he had to sneak off for catnaps during break times.  Meeting up with Malfoy the evening after such a late night meant they usually ended up sleeping on the sofa curled up together—which Harry found to be a very pleasurable experience, and so much better than sleeping on his own in the dorm.  But Hermione had commented on a couple of occasions on Harry’s tiredness; because of this they had taken to setting an alarm to avoid getting back quite so late.

 

Frequently, they became a little ‘hot under the collar’, but it took them a few weeks before they were brave enough to let things go too far.  Up until that point, Harry had been surreptitiously attending to his own desires back in the dorm afterwards—the evenings having been punctuated with breathless conversation whenever either one of them felt that the situation had become too intense.   

 

Malfoy was first to push things further.

 

As usual, they were sitting together in the centre of the sofa, devouring each other’s faces, hands running across freely across bodies—but never venturing beneath the lowest layer of clothing, or below the waist.  Harry felt the urge to apply some friction to his groin, and he instinctively began to pull back, to break the moment so he could cool down a little.  Malfoy didn’t let him.  Instead, Harry found himself being pushed backwards with Malfoy accompanying him on his descent.  Once horizontal, Malfoy lay flush against him, placing a leg between Harry’s and continuing the frantic connection with Harry’s mouth.  Malfoy began to rub himself on Harry’s hip, creating the wonderful friction that Harry so desperately desired.  Without thinking, Harry automatically ground his own hips upwards, against Malfoy.  They soon broke off their kiss to concentrate on keeping an angle and a rhythm that suited them both.  Only the briefest of moments passed before Harry groaned, feeling the pressure build up and then suddenly release.  He was only dimly aware of an echoing moan coming from above him, just afterwards, as Malfoy also spent himself.

 

“I don’t think we’re going to break any world records for staying power,” Malfoy said breathlessly and with a sly grin before pressing a kiss to Harry’s lips.

 

Harry kissed back lazily, frowning as he felt clothing sticking to his hip.  

 

     “Ugh! Sit up, Malfoy.”

 

     “I never realised that someone so inherently scruffy could be that easily upset by a bit of goo!”

 

     Malfoy moved out of the way so that Harry could right himself, and Harry immediately began undoing his trousers.

 

     “What _are_ you up to, Potter?”

 

“Getting rid of the ‘goo’,” Harry replied, tilting his hips upwards off the sofa and holding his trousers open at the front whilst pointing his wand at the mess.  Malfoy cringed.

 

“ _Abluere!”_

     “Now _that’s_ brave, even for a Gryffindor!” Malfoy announced, clearly impressed.  “What exactly was that spell?”

 

     “It’s one of the gentler cleaning charms.  I ended up learning several when I was bitten by a Malaclaw last year, but then you’d know all about that, wouldn’t you…” Harry gave Malfoy a pointed look, and Malfoy responded by looking suitably remorseful.  “Do you want me to clean you up?”

 

     “Something tells me you’re still bitter over that incident…”

 

     “It did end up with me breaking the broom my godfather bought me—my Firebolt.”

 

     “Ah… In that case, I think I’ll have to decline your offer,” Malfoy shifted to the edge of the sofa.  “I’m sorry, Potter.  I was a bit of an arse, wasn’t I? I tell you what, you teach me that spell, and then you can have a laugh at my expense while I turn myself into a eunuch!”

 

     They started by pouring a small amount of butterbeer on the table.  After only a couple of attempts Malfoy was able to perform the spell quite adequately. 

 

“I still don’t feel that confidant about pointing a wand at my dick…”

 

“You just need a little more practise,” Harry said, a little mischievously.  He picked up the flagon of butterbeer once more, and before Malfoy could work out what was about to happen, Harry quickly poured some down the front of Malfoy’s shirt.

 

“Aaah! You bastard! That’s bloody cold!” Malfoy complained, giving Harry a disgruntled look.

 

Harry grinned, unconsciously licking his lips at the sight of the wet clothing clinging to Malfoy’s chest.  “You’d better hurry up and clean it off then.”

 

“If you’re going to look at me like _that,_ I’m not sure I want to clean it off...” 

 

“Don’t worry, there’s plenty more butterbeer where that came from,” Harry pointed out suggestively.

 

Malfoy smirked, and he obediently cast the spell.

 

“Hmm, now where shall I pour this next?” Harry teased.

 

Malfoy said nothing.  He just looked up at Harry through his eyelashes in a sultry fashion, leaning back and deliberately parting his legs, pushing his hips slightly forward.  He looked positively edible, sitting so provocatively, waiting for Harry to pour cold butterbeer over the front of his trousers.  Harry was sorely tempted to, but he felt far too nervous about any potential consequences.  He wasn’t sure that he was ready to follow things through just yet, especially since he only had a vague idea about what ‘following things through’ would entail.  After a moment of internal deliberation, Harry couldn’t resist the temptation to take advantage in a different way than Malfoy had hoped.  He held the flagon over Malfoy’s lap and began to tilt it ever so slowly, savouring the tense sexual anticipation that Malfoy was exuding.  Just before the liquid seeped over the lip, he lifted it sharply, letting the contents spill over Malfoy’s head.  Malfoy was not impressed.  He was saturated.  

 

     “Oi, you exasperating Gryffindork!”

 

     Harry doubled up laughing.  Expecting Malfoy to tackle him, he looked up to see Malfoy just sitting there staring at him with a bemused expression, butterbeer dripping from his sodden hair.

 

     “You _really_ know how to spoil the moment,” Malfoy said dryly, but he couldn’t hold back the tiniest of smirks from making an appearance.  “Is this something you’ve been working on, or are you just gifted?”

 

     Harry tried to look remorseful, but couldn’t manage it around the grin that was plastered across his face.  Even so, he did feel a bit guilty that, because of his lack of confidence, Malfoy would have to wait before being able to pursue things further between them.  A trickle of butterbeer caught his attention as it dripped onto Malfoy’s neck and ran downwards to disappear under the collar of his shirt.  Harry realised that he was staring a little too intently, and he caught Malfoy’s eye once more—he could tell that Malfoy knew what he had been looking at.  But he was okay with that: he could follow through with this impulse; he could do necks.

 

     “Shall I help to clean you off?” Harry asked seductively, manoeuvring himself so that he was straddling Malfoy.

 

     “Surprisingly enough, I’m not entirely sure that I trust you at the moment,” Malfoy stated, matter-of-factly, trying to appear unruffled about Harry’s new position.

 

     “It’s not as if there’s any butterbeer left,” Harry pointed out before leaning in to take a swipe at Malfoy’s neck with his tongue.  

      

     “Carry on like that and I might bring myself to forgive you…” Malfoy trailed off in a gasp as Harry avidly complied, tracing the contours of Malfoy’s throat and lapping at the sweet butterbeer.

 

     Harry savoured the feel of Malfoy’s soft skin under his lips, taking his time as he worked his way downwards, ever so slowly following the same path that the trickle of butterbeer had taken before.  A pleasant, dizzy sensation spun through his head when he felt Malfoy take a firm hold of his hips, and he resisted the urge to speed up in his reawakening desire.  As he neared Malfoy’s collar, he placed a hand onto the sticky mop of hair and gently pulled Malfoy’s head further to the side.  With his other hand, Harry loosened Malfoy’s neckline slightly and held the collar down before kissing all the way down to the place where neck met shoulder.  Harry wanted more.  He wanted to remove Malfoy’s shirt completely and explore more of the pale skin, but he was scared by the intensity of the moment.  Therefore, when the alarm suddenly rang out through their charged fumblings, it came as a relief to Harry, an excuse to run away from the situation he felt he had inadvertently created.  

 

Malfoy pouted as Harry resolutely climbed off from his lap.  Harry listened to him complain and then beg to have a late night for a change, but at this point, Harry was not prepared to offer anything other than a consolatory kiss.

 

     “I don’t want you to think I’m too easy,” Harry said, trying to sound more confident that he felt. 

 

     Malfoy reluctantly accepted Harry’s help to remove all traces of butterbeer using magic; he still wasn’t prepared to trust Harry with taking care of the mess inside his trousers, and so Malfoy cleaned that himself, grimacing as he did so.  Once they were both hidden underneath Harry’s cloak, Harry walked Malfoy down to the dungeons—which he did most evenings; Malfoy often making fun of him for this, calling him a “proper gentlemen” for “walking me home”.  

 

On the way back—and after he had finished sulking—Malfoy began to talk about having completed his Potions project the day before.

 

     “Would you could help me with mine?” Harry asked, still failing miserably at his own project.

 

     “Yeah, all right.  How far have you got?”

 

     “Er… I haven’t,” Harry admitted.  “I have tried, but I can’t get the hang of chopping the horsetail without bruising it too much, and I haven’t been able to work out how long the bistort needs boiling for.”  

 

     “Simmer! You’re supposed to simmer, not boil!” Malfoy looked at him in mock horror.  “You really are hopeless, aren’t you? How did you manage to pass your O.W.L.s?  Anyway, what do I get in return for helping you?”

 

“A sense of fulfilment at doing a good deed?”

 

They stopped at the top of the steps where they usually parted, and Malfoy pulled Harry close.

 

“You _know_ I’m far too shallow for that to be enough motivation.  No, in return… I think that next time, I’d like to… you know… with my hand,” he said, sounding a little unsure.  He trailed a hand downwards over Harry’s chest and abdomen, resting it lightly on the front of Harry’s trousers to illustrate what he was saying.

 

Harry inhaled sharply, feeling the blood begin to drain from the top half of his body.

 

“Wou… would you like me to… as well?” Harry stammered.

 

“Only if you want to, Potter.  You don’t have to say yes.  Just think about it.”

 

They kissed firmly before parting, Harry feeling as if he’d been knocked for six.

 

Harry could do nothing else _but_ think about Malfoy’s proposition.  The thought of finally touching Malfoy and being touched by Malfoy _there_ was tantalising.  He imagined the blissful sensation of Malfoy’s warm fingers curling round him, and then what it would be like to make Malfoy gasp in the same way.  He hadn’t been brave enough to take the initiative for himself—so much for being a Gryffindor! But now Malfoy had taken control, and Harry was more than happy to go along with him.  There was no way he was going to turn it down—especially as he was going to get help with his potions homework as well!  He even had dreams about it that night, awaking the next morning complete with erection and vivid mental images.  His mouth was overtly dry during breakfast, making it hard to swallow anything, and it was hard to write properly in Charms due to his hands being so clammy.  Throughout the first half of the morning, he was lost in a pleasant daydream, wishing for the next two days to pass quickly.  In this dreamy state, Defence Against the Dark Arts came as a bit of a shock to the system.

 

     This year they shared these lessons with the Ravenclaws.  As usual, Harry was sitting behind Seamus, two rows behind Ron and Hermione.  Seamus was chatting with Neville on his other side and relaying the latest news from his mum.  Harry couldn’t bring himself to be interested, and he gazed off into space instead, barely paying attention to anything Professor Lupin was saying.  He half acknowledged Lupin asking Padma for an example—of what, he couldn’t say—and Harry was extremely grateful he hadn’t been asked himself.  She was halfway through her answer when Harry’s attention was brought back to the present moment with a snap.  Professor Lupin had suddenly doubled over in pain, letting out a moan—or was that a howl? —of agony.

 

“Professor, what’s wrong?” Padma asked.  

 

“Get… out… go!” Lupin commanded.  “Lock the door… Tell the headmaster…”

 

A low growling began to resonate throughout the classroom, and Harry jumped up with a start.  Lupin was changing into his werewolf state, during the day, without a full moon.  Turning round to follow the rest of the students out of the class, his stomach sank to his feet as saw that some of them had already made it to the door, but they were unable to leave.  The door wouldn’t open.  Looking back at the Professor, he could see the skin of Lupin’s hands rapidly being covered with the growth of thick, wiry hair.  Lupin’s body was spasmodically shaking, and the growling was occasionally punctuated by a high-pitched whining.  Frantic cries of  “ _alohomora!_ ” could be heard from the back of the classroom; a couple of desperate students tried to break through the door by pounding against it with chairs.  Harry’s heart began to thud loudly within his chest, and it felt as if he had to force air into his lungs.  It was too late: the change was nearly complete.  He stumbled backwards, groping in his robes for his wand, as the slavering beast rose up on it’s powerful limbs, snarling and sniffing at the air.  It gave a deafening growl, and the class lapsed into silence, staring, dumbfounded, at their fate.

 

“But it’s not full moon,” Neville whined.

 

“That’s really not very helpful!” Ron snapped back.

 

The creature padded down the classroom to where the students were packed together like sheep, sniffing the air as if finding out what was on the menu for dinner.  Harry stumbled slightly in his retreat when he saw the werewolf’s gaze come to rest on him—as if it had made up its mind that Harry was going to be the first course.

 

“We can’t just stun him,” Harry croaked feebly.  “Werewolves are too strong to be taken down by a stupefy given by any one of us.”  

 

“Perhaps if we hit him all at once?” Hermione suggested.

 

The werewolf chose that moment to take a leap in Harry’s direction, and they all lifted their wands and shouted in unison.  

 

“S _tupefy!”_

 

They had managed to knock it backwards several feet, and it yelped in pain as it hit the ground.  Breaths were held in a moment of tense silence.  Then the werewolf lurched and struggled back to its feet.  Those who were next to the door had begun banging on it frantically, shouting and screaming.  Others were shouting out random suggestions above the noise.

 

“We’ve got to try a stronger spell.” 

 

“Perhaps we could throw a few chairs at it.”

 

“Does anyone know how to transfigure things into silver?  We could use our wands to fire something at him.”

 

“But… but it’s Professor Lupin!” Harry protested, not knowing who had come up with the idea.

 

“It’s a werewolf, Harry, and it’s planning on having us for lunch.  I don’t hear you coming up with any better ideas,” Padma responded tetchily.

 

“It doesn’t matter anyway, transfiguring things into silver involves dark magic,” Seamus pointed out.  Harry acknowledged that Seamus was probably right: he knew Seamus had previously tried to transfigure a few items into silver back in the first year, following his failed attempts to transfigure water into rum.  “We’d need a Death Eater to do that!”

 

Another growl, another lurch, another joint casting of _stupefy,_ and then the door was suddenly pushed inwards.  The students poured out of the classroom, and the werewolf, noticing that its prey was now escaping, leapt forward to try and catch the stragglers, of which Harry was one.  Feeling the hot breath close behind him, he desperately tried to make it to the doorway.  

 

“ _Soporo!”_ It was Malfoy’s voice, and with it came a shot of blue light that passed by Harry’s shoulder.  He briefly glanced back to see the werewolf, which was still conscious but distracted long enough for him to make his escape.  Harry pulled the door shut behind him.  A huge bang rang through the woodwork as the wolf threw itself at the door from the other side. 

 

“It’s not going to hold!” Hermione anxiously pointed out.  

 

Harry scanned the remaining students, trying to find Malfoy.  What was he doing here?  A few students had moved on down the hallway, running to safety and to get help.  From amongst the remainder, Harry saw Malfoy step out, his face swollen on one side, dried blood at the base of his nose.  The Slytherin drew his wand, aiming at the door.

_“Foris argentatus!”_ he shouted, and a covering of silver flowed across the door.

 

“Looks like we’ve found our Death Eater,” Seamus insinuated. 

 

Malfoy just ignored him, and Harry threw Seamus a glare before turning towards Malfoy.  

 

“Thanks,” he simply stated, knowing that, even if they hadn’t been friends, he would have acknowledged Malfoy’s help.  But it felt very odd, talking to him in public.  Did it show?  Could anyone tell what he and Malfoy had been getting up to?  Could anyone tell how worried he was about Malfoy’s face? 

 

“Why didn’t anyone open the door?” Malfoy asked as he looked at the door and surveyed his handiwork.  Harry knew the question was addressed to him, even though Malfoy had done his best to cover up that fact by leaving it open for anyone to answer.  Malfoy kept his voice restrained and cold, and his face expressionless.

 

“Don’t you think we tried?” Harry answered sarcastically when no one else bothered to reply.  He tried to imitate Malfoy’s distance, very aware of this conversation being the centre of attention.  All he wanted to do was to hug Malfoy.  He could feel himself shaking from the adrenaline that was still coursing through his veins, and this false interaction with Malfoy wasn’t helping.  “What happened to you?”

 

“Had a bit of a disagreement with… er… someone,” Malfoy responded cagily, his eyes briefly darting at Hermione as he did so.  “I was on my way up to the hospital wing when I passed the room and heard shouting…”

 

Malfoy gave a nervous glance at the others who were still standing in the hallway before finally turning tail and leaving.  

 

“Will somebody tell me what on earth is going on?”

 

The sound of McGonagall’s voice brought Harry back to his senses and made him realise he had been staring at Malfoy’s retreating form.  Harry was relieved that it seemed most of the others had also been watching Malfoy’s exit.  After they answered McGonagall’s questions, she sent them all to see Madam Pomfrey.  Harry looked for Malfoy while he was in the hospital wing, but didn’t see him.  He wanted to know that Malfoy was all right.  He wanted to thank Malfoy properly.  He wanted to hold Malfoy.  The rest of the class, who had run off as soon as they had escaped from the classroom, were already there, being treated for shock.  Much to everyone’s annoyance, Madam Pomfrey insisted on thoroughly checking everyone over before she would let anyone leave—just in case they had been bitten.  Harry tried to find out what was happening with Professor Lupin, but he was only told that Dumbledore would be the one to inform them of anything that they ought to know.

 

At lunch, the hall was thrumming with the clamour of gossiping students.  

 

“They’ve been questioning the sixth years from Hufflepuff and Slytherin as well,” Hermione informed Ron, Harry, and Seamus.  “Apparently they had Defence lessons before us this morning.”

 

“I wonder why he changed like that?” Ron asked.  “Perhaps someone cast a spell on him.”

 

“A spell?” Hermione looked at him with disdain.  “Really, Ron!  You should know by now that a spell can’t trigger werewolf transformations.  It was a potion.  I overheard Snape talking to McGonagall, and he doesn’t believe any of the students would be capable of creating a potion like that—not without help, anyway.  But I can’t help wondering if it’s got something to do with our stolen animals.”  Ron looked at her, utterly clueless to the connection she had made.  “Remember the main potions we came across: transfiguration potions, potions to force someone to show their animagus form, and full moon potions—perhaps someone’s combined them…”

 

“He had a jug and glass of water in the room, do you think someone could’ve spiked it?” Ron asked, pleased to have come up with an idea, even if it wasn’t as sophisticated as Hermione’s.

 

“But no one went near the desk in our lesson,” Harry pointed out.

 

“Perhaps that’s why they’re asking the class before us,” Seamus suggested.  “They think one of them did it.  My bets are on Malfoy.”

 

“But that doesn’t make sense,” Harry protested.  “He let us all out; he stopped me from getting hurt…”

 

“Don’t be so naïve, Harry,” Seamus replied.  “He probably set it all up just to make himself look good.  As if we’d believe he’d be capable of playing the hero.”

 

“Yeah,” Ron eagerly agreed.  “I think it was just bad timing on his part.  He spiked the drink and then came back to ‘rescue’ us, waiting for the screaming to start before he opened the door.  Only he expected at least a couple of us to have been bitten by then.”

 

“But he didn’t have to cast the sleeping charm on Lupin once the door had been opened,” Harry interjected. “He could’ve let me get bitten.”  

 

“Wouldn’t have been much of a rescue attempt if he had let ‘Harry Potter’ get injured at the last moment.  He was probably caught off guard, surprised that you had survived so far.  Harry, you must’ve noticed that Lupin seemed to be more interested in you than anyone else…”

 

Seamus trailed off as Neville arrived, surprising them all with the huge grin on his face.

 

“You’ll never guess what Millicent did! She’s the one who punched Malfoy!  Malfoy’s been hit by a girl!  My girlfriend…” he finished off dreamily as he took his seat, the others gaping at him in surprise.

 

 “They were in Ancient Runes, after their Defence lesson,” Neville explained as he sat down.  “And she was trying to get information out of him about my toad, and your cat, Hermione.  He wasn’t going to admit anything, but she’s got a hunch that’s he’s involved because he’d disappeared from the Slytherin common room when Crookshanks went missing.”

 

“So, he could’ve been in his dorm!” Harry wished he could’ve taken that back as he received an assortment of strange looks from those around him.  _I think I’ve used up my ‘defending Malfoy’ quota for this conversation._

 

“No, he wasn’t.”  Neville continued, unperturbed.  “She’s bullied Crabbe into letting her know when he’s missing from the dorm.   Apparently he’s been gone a lot recently.  Anyway, he ended asking her why would he want a mu… a mudblood’s cat.  So she hit him.”

 

“That bloody ferret!” Ron shouted, outraged.  “Where does he get off?”

 

“Good for her,” Hermione added, casting a steely gaze at Harry.  “I’ll have to go over and thank her later.  Malfoy just can’t help showing his true colours, can he? Perhaps it’s all linked… he’s probably been keeping his head down this term while putting this potion together.  You must agree that it looks highly suspicious, Harry.”

 

“Yes, it does,” Harry verbally agreed, while feeling very frustrated that he couldn’t tell them where Malfoy had really been: that Malfoy had an alibi.

 

     Afternoon lessons had been cancelled for those who had been in the fated Defence lesson, and Harry spent the time in the common room trying to get through his homework and avoiding any conversations that implicated Malfoy—which seemed to be most of them.  He couldn’t wait another two days before he saw Malfoy, and so, passing through the crowds of students on the way back from dinner, Harry surreptitiously slipped him a note.  It simply stated _10pm tonight, usual place._

 

In his eagerness to see Malfoy, Harry began to make his way to the Room of Requirement ten minutes early that evening.  He saw Malfoy ahead in the corridor and increased his own pace.  Catching up with Malfoy and still unseen in his cloak, Harry couldn’t resist grabbing him by surprise.  Malfoy nearly had a fit.  

 

“You bastard!” Malfoy let out in a half-whisper, as Harry pulled the cloak over to cover the both of them.

 

“Sorry, but that was far too tempting,” Harry said coyly before running a hand over Malfoy’s face, where he seen the injuries earlier on.  Madame Pomfrey had done her job well: the swelling had gone down, and there was no evidence that he had been hit.  Harry held his face and kissed him.  “Are you okay?  I heard that it was Millicent who hit you...”

 

“So you’ve dragged me out tonight to gloat?” Malfoy asked, and Harry couldn’t help but let out a small snigger as they continued to walk along the corridor.

 

“No, but I can’t blame her.  I’d be tempted to do the same if I ever hear you call Hermione a mudblood!”

 

“I wasn’t doing it to get at Granger.  I was just fed up with Bulstrode going on and on; I wanted her to shut up and leave me alone.  She wouldn’t stop badgering me about that bloody cat.  What I want to know is how she knew I wasn’t in the dorm?  It makes me look guilty.  I’d love to see the look on her face if I told her what I was really up to!”

 

“Rumours are that she’s been bullying your old sidekicks for information.”

 

“What, Crabbe and Goyle?  Those…”

 

Malfoy trailed off as they arrived at the Room of Requirement.  The door was there ready for them tonight.  Inside, there was no blend of common rooms, no sofa, and no butterbeer, just a cold, dark potions lab.  The room was expansive, and it was filled with several tables and chairs, two large trunks, and shelving that lined the walls with assorted jars of ingredients.  On one of the tables stood a large cauldron, and on the table next to it were two smaller cauldrons and a chopping board.  The only light came from a small fire at one side of the room. 

 

“Wow, this is different,” Malfoy stated in amazement.  

 

“And chilly,” Harry said, moving to perch on a slab right in front of the fire and curling his arms round his legs.

 

“Bloody sissy Gryffindor!” Malfoy laughed as he investigated one of the many jars. “So you really aredesperate to get on with your Potions project—or are you just keen to give me my payment?  By the way, when _do_ I get paid?”

 

Looking up, he found Malfoy gazing at him with an utterly obscene expression.  Harry just pursed his lips and tried not to laugh.

 

“When Snape tells me I haven’t failed!  I hadn’t _planned_ to start on my project tonight, but I guess I could do with something to take my mind off of what happened today.”

 

The obscene expression dropped from Malfoy’s face, and it was replaced with a look of concern.  Putting the jar back on the shelf, he came over to the fireplace, placing a steadying hand on Harry’s knee as he moved to sit down opposite him.

 

“I don’t know what it must’ve been like for you, being stuck in that room, but I know that when I opened the door up and everyone pushed past me to get out …” Malfoy trailed off, and he looked downwards for a moment, gently squeezing Harry’s knee where his hand still rested, keeping the contact between them.  Harry couldn’t tell whether this was meant to comfort him, or whether Malfoy was doing it to reassure himself.  It was obvious to Harry that Malfoy had been unnerved over what had happened: his voice held a slight tremor, and he had a worried expression on his face.  “I saw the werewolf, and then I saw you still in there.  He was _inches_ away from you, Potter…”

 

“If you hadn’t been there…” Harry acknowledged soberly, and then he tried to lighten the tone.  “I don’t know.  Playing the hero, eh? You’re not turning into a ‘Gryffindork’, are you?  You realise it could all go downhill from here!”

 

“Sod off, Potter!” Malfoy jested.

 

     Harry reached forward and brought Malfoy’s face towards his own.  Their lips touched and tenderly played against one another, Harry suddenly feeling very aware of how special this relationship was becoming.  There was no doubt in Harry’s mind now that this was what Lupin meant last year; he felt affection for Malfoy.  Malfoy _had_ affected him.  

 

Their delicate kiss did not last.  The sound of glass smashing rang through the air, and they both instantly pulled apart, jumping up with a start.  They stood there in silence, searching the shadows of the room for movement and listening for any further sound.  All Harry could hear was Malfoy’s noisy breathing and the pounding of his own heartbeat.  Then a wet thud came from underneath a table near the far end of the room, followed by the base of a glass jar rolling along the floor, coming to a halt as it hit a table leg.  Another squelchy thud, and Harry could see a one-eyed toad appear from under the table.

 

     “It’s… Trevor!” Harry stammered in surprise, and he carefully picked up the toad.

 

     “That’s disgusting,” Malfoy said, peering closely at the open pus-filled wound where a second eye should’ve been.  “What is it doing here?”

 

“I don’t know.”  Harry caught Malfoy’s gaze as he considered a possibility that he didn’t like, at all.  “Perhaps the lab isn’t here for us…” Malfoy looked as unnerved by this observation as Harry felt.  “I think we should go.”

 

They grabbed the cloak and slipped back out into the corridor hidden within its folds.

 

“We should tell Dumbledore about this,” Harry asserted, and Malfoy nodded in agreement, but chewed on his lip in worry.

 

“What are you going to say to Neville and the others?  You can’t exactly say that you were in the Room of Requirement… They’d want to know what you were doing there…”

 

“I’ll say I found him in the corridor outside the room when I was out walking.  I think Dumbledore will understand that we can’t tell anyone.”

 

     Professor Dumbledore was very interested when they showed him Trevor, and told him where they had found the toad.  He cast a healing charm on Trevor’s wound, which stemmed the oozing pus, and then he asked them to show him the room.  But by the time they had returned, the potions lab had gone.  To Malfoy’s relief, when Dumbledore handed the toad back to Harry, Dumbledore concurred that it would be acceptable for Harry to say he had been alone in the corridor when Trevor had been found.  

 

Harry caught Neville on his way up to bed, and though Neville was horrified at what had happened to Trevor, he was very grateful to Harry for finding him.  Ron, as Harry expected, blamed it on Malfoy.  Harry didn’t give a response to Ron’s assertion, but went straight to bed instead, avoiding the conversation and looking forward to the next night he would be able to spend with Malfoy without distractions.  All the time, his thoughts kept coming back to the Room of Requirement.  They had assumed it had been a potions lab for his benefit; what if they were wrong?  There didn’t appear to be anyone there, but what if someone _had_ been hiding in the room?  And if there was, what were they doing there? What would they want a potions lab for? Harry tried to console himself with the fact that if, by some chance, it was mentioned, at least they would know who was responsible for taking Trevor.  He doubted anything would be said for that very reason.

 


	9. Repercussions

The next day at breakfast, Professor Dumbledore announced that Professor Lupin would no longer be able to teach at Hogwarts.  For the remainder of the year—and until a replacement could be found—the first through third years would not be receiving Defence lessons, the fourth and fifth years would be taught by Professor McGonagall, and the sixth and seventh years would be taught by Professor Snape.  For the most part, the student population were aggrieved by this news, but Harry was disappointed to hear a few choice comments made concerning how irresponsible Dumbledore had been to let Lupin return in the first place.  No more Professor Lupin for Defence lessons, and Harry couldn’t imagine that decision being reversed, ever.  All he had to look forward to was spending more time being taught by Snape.  _I hope somebody applies for the job soon,_ he silently pleaded.  But knowing how hard it had been for Dumbledore to find Defence teachers in the past, Harry wasn’t feeling too optimistic.  Harry wondered what Remus would do, now that he had to leave Hogwarts for a second time.  Harry knew Remus’s job prospects were not good at the best of times.  But with the news that the werewolf could potentially be brought out at any time of the month, Harry realised that there would be very few options available.  He hoped Remus would be all right.  

 

All conversation concerning Professor Lupin was brought to a sudden halt as whispers of “Malfoy’s got a howler” spread across the hall.  While those around him turned to stare at Malfoy in eager anticipation, Harry looked over uneasily to see Malfoy’s face steadily loosing its colour.

 

“DRACO MALFOY!”  A raised female voice that oozed with venom echoed around the Great Hall.  

 

“Do you think that’s his mum?” Ron asked in a half-whisper.  “I wonder what’s he done.”

 

Harry just shrugged his shoulders, and carried on listening to the message—which wasn’t a difficult task: the volume ensured that every single word came out crystal clear.  His gaze was still focused on Malfoy, trying to work out what Malfoy could’ve done to earn himself a howler from his mother.  After all, Malfoy hadn’t been contacted by any of his family in months.

 

“I HOPE YOU REALISE JUST HOW MUCH YOU HAVE DISAPPONTED ME!  AS IF SAVING THAT WORTHLESS SLIME, HARRY POTTER, WASN’T BAD ENOUGH!  LITTLE DID I KNOW THAT YOU COULD STOOP _EVEN_ _LOWER_!”

 

Harry could see Draco frowning hard as the howler continued, “AFTER FINDING OUT YOU WERE FRIENDS WITH THAT LITTLE CREEP I MANAGED TO KEEP MY SILENCE.  BUT I AM SICKENED TO KNOW JUST HOW _INTIMATE_ YOU HAVE BECOME WITH THAT POTTER BOY.  THIS… ‘RELATIONSHIP’ WITH HIM IS UNACCEPTABLE!”

 

Harry jerked his attention away from Draco’s shocked expression, to be confronted with the table of Gryffindors staring at him in surprise.  In the background Narcissa’s parting remark could be heard, “YOU DISGUST ME, DRACO.  YOU ARE NO LONGER MY SON!”

 

Silence now descended upon the Great Hall as the howler burst into flames in front of an unsettled Draco Malfoy.  He looked at no one as he stood up from the table and rushed out. 

 

“Now I’d like to buy a drink for whoever pulled that practical joke on Draco Malfoy!” Ron said as he started laughing at the absurdity of it all.  He looked over at Harry expecting him to join in.  

 

Harry looked down and refused to make eye contact.  He could sit here and laugh it off, make out that it was a big joke—that would be so easy to do.  But he couldn’t abandon Malfoy.  Malfoy had now officially been ostracised from his family; this was what he had feared the most: completely losing his relationship with his father.  Harry knew what it felt like to be alone, not to have any family outside of Hogwarts that cared about him.  And as he had told Harry before, Malfoy needed him; now more so than ever.  This had happened because of their connection, and from the beginning, Harry had said that he would still be there for Malfoy if it ever got out.  It was time to face up to other people’s reactions, to be honest come what may.  

 

“I’ve got to go,” he mumbled as he stood up and hurried out after Malfoy, ignoring the confused calls from the other Gryffindors.

 

 _Someone_ was _in the Room of Requirement last night,_ he realised.  _But who would have the opportunity to get in contact with Narcissa Malfoy? Evidently someone who has contacted her before; she already knew about us being friends…_ Harry could only think of two people, other than Dumbledore, that knew about their friendship: Snape and Luna.  The idea of Luna was laughable; Snape on the other hand… But after spending five years of being paranoid about Snape and then finally coming to accept that he wasn’t playing for the other side, Harry was reluctant to believe he was responsible.  _But what else would explain it?_ He suppressed a shudder at the further thought of an unknown someone spying on one or more of his meetings with Malfoy.  

 

Seeing Malfoy up ahead, Harry shouted out to him. 

 

“Malfoy, wait!”

 

“I need to be alone right now,” Malfoy stated blankly as he stopped walking and turned to face Harry.  He looked utterly dejected; the muscles of his face were held tightly and highlighted an early growth of worry lines across his forehead; his eyes were dull, but glistening as if he was on the verge of tears.  Harry felt his heart wrench at the sight of Malfoy in such a state.

 

“I understand, but just remember that I meant what I said before.  I don’t care if everyone knows, I’m not going anywhere.”

 

Malfoy gave a small smile around the tenseness of his features, and Harry couldn’t resist pulling him into a firm embrace.  They stood there for a few moments, clinging to each other as if they couldn’t survive any other way.  Finally Harry relented, and he relaxed his hold slightly.

 

“I’ll see you in Potions,” Harry murmured against Malfoy’s hair, inhaling deeply and breathing in Malfoy’s musky scent.  

 

“That’s if you survive until then…” Malfoy said in an ominous tone.

 

Harry leaned back and glanced over his shoulder to see what Malfoy was looking at.  Ron, Hermione, Neville, Millicent, and Ginny had arrived at the far end of the corridor.  All of them were shocked, mouths agape, eyes wide—all apart from Ron, who just looked furious.  Harry felt his stomach sink to his feet.

 

“Good luck, Potter,” Malfoy said, drawing back from Harry’s arms and giving him an encouraging smile.

 

“Thanks, I think I’ll need it.”

 

Leaving Malfoy to go on his way, Harry walked up to the other occupants of the corridor and steeled himself for the inevitable confrontation.

 

     “Tell me I didn’t just see that, Harry!” Ron said heatedly as Harry approached.

     

“Can we not discuss this here?” Harry asked, trying to stay composed as he felt his heart beginning to race.  He motioned in the direction of Gryffindor tower.  

 

“I’ll bet you’d rather not discuss it at all!” Ron’s voice was cold and haughty, sending an unpleasant shiver up Harry’s spine.  Harry couldn’t see any traces of the loyalty that Ron had shown towards him in previous years.  The distant look on Ron’s face reminded Harry of the time when his name had been placed into the Goblet of Fire, and Ron had refused to believe that Harry didn’t do it himself.  That same barrier had now been instantly erected.

 

 “Just wait until we get back to the common room, Ron,” Hermione said, in an effort to calm him down.

 

     Millicent walked off towards the dungeons, and the rest of them walked up to the Gryffindor common room enveloped within a heavy silence.  The entire way, Harry could feel Ron’s eyes boring into the back of his head. In an effort to lighten his ominous mood, Harry imagined Malfoy sarcastically humming The Death March and let that fill the anxious void in his head.  

 

As soon as they had stepped through the hole behind the portrait, Ron rounded on Harry.

 

     “What the _hell_ is going on, Harry?” he asked indignantly, his face flushed with anger, eyes narrowed, and teeth bared.

 

“You heard the howler, Ron!” Harry heard himself snap back automatically, irate that Ron was being so pompous about it.  He could understand Ron being upset with this sudden revelation, but this was unreasonable.  Harry didn’t want the conversation to go like this, but he found it hard to hold back when Ron was being such a reactive arse.  “I’ve been seeing Malfoy.” 

 

“But… that howler… that was a joke; it _had_ to be a joke…” Ron pleaded in disbelief.  His expression stiffened further when he saw that Harry was not relenting.  “How _can_ you be such an idiot?”  

 

“So I’m an idiot.  Are you going to oust me, just like you did with Dean?” Harry asked accusingly, and he immediately wished he hadn’t.

 

“You’re the one who’s been lying to us, Harry,” Ron pointed out, giving Harry a penetrating frosty glare.

 

“Maybe because I knew damn well how you’d react…” _I still can’t tell them about Malfoy getting the Dark Mark.  I promised I wouldn’t, and he hasn’t said otherwise._ Harry couldn’t understand, after all they had been through during their time at Hogwarts, why they wouldn’t trust him, why they refused to accept that he was capable of making his own choices, choices made for good reasons.  _I could mention that Dumbledore knows that Malfoy’s changed… But why should I have to? Why should they trust his judgement and not mine? And they’d want me to say how Dumbledore knows, which leads me back to the Dark Mark…I don’t want to risk them guessing._

 

 “Don’t you dare try getting out of this, Harry Potter!” Hermione chastised.  “The biggest problem here is not you being gay, it’s not even you being with Malfoy—although I can’t even _begin_ to understand why you would want to—but it’s because you kept this from us.”

 

“Are you mad?” Ron spluttered.  “This _is_ Malfoy you’re talking about? Of course a _huge_ part of the problem is because it’s _him_!”

 

“He’s changed, Ron,” Harry tried weakly.

 

“Yeah right, and You-Know-Who has started doing weekend charity work.”

 

“So just because you don’t believe it, he’s not allowed to change?  Is that it?  Well, it’s great that you’re so willing to give people second chances, Ron.” _I’ve got to calm down,_ Harry reminded himself.  _I won’t get anywhere if I keep reacting like Ron does._

 

“Malfoys don’t count…  This is why you’ve been telling me to stop hassling him, isn’t it?”

 

“Yes.  You’re the one who’s always starting the fights nowadays; he doesn’t.”

 

“That doesn’t mean you should trust him, let alone _date_ him!”  Ron said adamantly, his upper lip curled up in distaste.  He then looked at Harry in incredulity as he realised something else.  “I bet you haven’t really lost the Marauder’s Map, have you?  You lied about that, as well—just so you could hide your dirty little meetings with that slimy…”

 

“Ron this isn’t helpful,” Hermione hastily interjected before Harry was able to retaliate.

 

“But it’s true!” Ron insisted in a sulk. 

 

“Why did you keep this quiet, Harry?” Hermione asked, after giving Ron a withered look.

 

“You heard the reaction he got from his father,” Harry knew this didn’t explain everything, but he couldn’t think of anything else to say.  He wasn’t prepared to have to deal with this today; he felt as if he should have had a speech drawn up ready in order to make his case.

 

“Harry, after all we’ve been through, I would’ve thought you’d be capable of trusting us more than that.  Just think of all the times we’ve stood by you in the past.  I can’t understand why you’d have so little faith in your friends,” Hermione said, looking perplexed.  “Just what has he said to make you hide this from us?”

 

“I… I made a promise… There are things that I still can’t tell you,” Ron scoffed at this.   “I guess you’re just going to have to trust my judgement on this.”

 

“We’re supposed to trust you?” Ron spluttered.  “After you’ve been keeping secrets from us for… just how long _has_ it been going on for, Harry?”

 

“A while…” Ron glared at Harry for trying to side step the question. “Since not long after Christmas.”

 

     “Bloody hell!”

 

     “Remember who his father is, Harry,” Hermione said before Ron could add anything further.  “Lucius Malfoy hates you.  I hardly think getting friendly with his son is a sure fire way to making yourself safer.”

 

“He’s not Lucius…”

 

“No, he’s just a mini-Lucius, and a really bad imitation at that,” Ron taunted.  “You’ve seen how much he tries to copy his dad.  Bloody sickening the way he sucks up to his own father—I suppose it’s to get him in practise for when he finally has to suck up to Voldemort…”

 

“You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” Harry said sharply, feeling a bit taken aback by the force of emotion he felt, emotion triggered by the way Ron was talking about Draco’s relationship with Lucius.

 

“Well, why don’t you fill me in on what’s _really_ going on then?” Ron asked, raising his voice excessively so that he was nearly shouting at Harry.  “Oh, no, sorry, I forgot.  You can’t.  You’ve promised _Malfoy_ that you’d rather keep his secrets than keep your own friends…  Have you forgotten what Wormtail did to your parents?”

 

“Malfoy’s nothing like Peter Pettigrew!” Harry spat back.  “And this has got _nothing_ to do with my parents!”

 

“You don’t know that, Harry,” Hermione said as softly as she could, trying her best to defuse the situation.  “Just because he’s not openly causing trouble, it doesn’t mean he’s not up to something.  How do you know he’s not going to do the same to you?  Maybe your trust is just a little misplaced.”

 

“I know things that you don’t, and I trust him because of those things,” Harry stated resolutely.  “My opinion is not going to change just because you don’t like him.”  

 

“Millicent still thinks he’s…” Hermione began, but Harry was not prepared to hear another Millicent anecdote.

 

     “I’m well aware of Millicent’s opinion of Malfoy!” he automatically snapped, his voice louder than he had intended.

 

“Don’t you dare shout at Hermione like that!” Ron fumed.  He had squared his shoulders and clenched his fists, ready to lash out.

 

“Ron, I don’t need you protecting me!” Hermione admonished.  Ron bristled and directed an icy stare at Harry for being the cause of friction between himself and Hermione. “Harry, Millicent thinks he’s been involved in something that’s been planned since Christmas—what if she’s right? What if you’re a part of that plan? After all, he’s had you keeping secrets from your friends.  How do you know what he’s told you is true?  With all this secrecy, it’s hard to believe he’s not working some elaborate scheme to set you up.”

 

“What makes you think you can trust Millicent anymore than I trust Malfoy?  Maybe it’s _your_ trust that’s misplaced,” Harry said, once more reacting on instinct, working off the distrust and irritation he felt regarding Millicent and her continuous slandering of Malfoy.  Ron narrowed his eyes at the way Harry spoke towards Hermione, still prepared to jump in and defend Hermione if need be.  “How do you know that _she’s_ not the one playing double agent?”

 

“Well, if you’d bothered to get to know her…” Hermione started to say, and Harry had a distinct feeling of déjà vu as far as this topic of conversation was concerned.  _Why does it always come back to_ her _?  This has_ nothing _to do with Millicent; this is about Malfoy and me._

 

“Yeah, I’m really going to spend time talking with her when all she wants to discuss is how Malfoy is _definitely_ up to something—when I _know_ he isn’t!”

 

“Are you really going to let him carry on talking to you like that, Hermione?” Ron asked, having given up on getting anywhere with the conversation.  “Because, if you are, I don’t want to have to listen to it.  I’ll only end up trying to protect you, and you’ll end up shouting at me.  We’ll argue, and it’ll be over Harry.  And right now, I really don’t think he’s worth it.”

 

“Ron…” Ron didn’t wait for Hermione to finish, but he stomped up the stairs towards the dorm.

 

“Fine!” Harry couldn’t resist shouting after him, even though he knew that it was just childish to persist.

 

Noticing the other Gryffindors present in the room for the first time since the argument began, Harry saw that they were all now hurriedly beginning to disperse in an effort to escape the tense atmosphere that remained.

 

“I hope you know what you’re doing, Harry,” Hermione said dryly before leaving to go off to her own dorm.

 

Harry stood there, unsure what to do.  His bag was upstairs, but he didn’t want to get it whilst Ron was still in the dorm.  _But I’ve got to get it sometime; it might as well be now._ He made his way up the stairs, and when he reached the top, the door to the dormitory banged open, with Ron storming out.  Ron said nothing as he barged past Harry, glaring.  Harry plodded up to the dorm, his legs feeling like lead.  If there had been any chance of regaining his previous closeness with Ron, he’d totally blown it now.  Bending down to pick up the bag, a drop of salty liquid dropped from the end of his nose and fell to the floor.  Harry sat heavily on his bed, burying his face in his hands and letting the tears run freely.  He felt miserable.  _Why does Ron have to be so reactive? And why did I have to let him get to me?_ Harry wondered. _I guess I deserved all I got.  I did lie to them_ — _they have every reason to hate me.  At least I’ve still got Malfoy._

 

The first lesson of the day was Charms, the second of the week, and it seemed to drag endlessly for Harry.  Dean had called him over at he walked into the classroom, and they had sat together—prompting Ron to throw Harry a filthy look.  Throughout the lesson, he could feel his skin prickle at the way people were staring at him.  The only other person who had spoken to him since the argument was Luna, who he had passed on his way down to the classroom.  She had tried to reassure him that it would soon blow over.  Right now, Harry found that hard to believe.

 

Once the lesson had finished, Harry didn’t bother to go outside for break, as he didn’t want to bump into anyone—especially Ron.  Instead he made his way down to the dungeons and waited for Potions to begin.  For the first time in his life, he was looking forward to Potions, as he would get to see Malfoy.  Malfoy had had the same idea about hanging around the corridor by the lab, and so Harry had not been standing there long before Malfoy trudged by.  They smiled and greeted each other with a warm hug and a brief, tender kiss before squeezing into an alcove on one side of the corridor to sit down together.

 

“How did it go with Weasley and the others?” Malfoy asked, concerned.

 

“We argued about it for a bit but didn’t get anywhere.  Ron’s not talking to me now.”

 

“I’m sorry.  I bet there’s not a lot you could say to calm them down when they hate me so much.”

 

“It’s not your fault… well, not entirely,” Harry asserted.  “They just don’t understand why I trust you.”

 

“Didn’t you tell them about stopping me from getting the Dark Mark?”

 

Malfoy was looking at Harry with a puzzled expression.  Harry felt equally baffled by Malfoy’s question.  “I promised you I wouldn’t—you know that.”

 

A huge smile lit up Malfoy’s face, and he placed both hands on Harry’s cheeks, pulling Harry in for a smacking kiss.

 

“Potter, you’re fantastic, do you know that?”

 

Harry just looked at Malfoy, stunned.  Did Malfoy really have so little faith in people to expect everyone to be capable of breaking his confidence whenever circumstances dictated?

 

“I automatically assumed, when it came down to your friends finding out, you would have to tell them everything,” Malfoy explained.  “Not for one moment did I think you would risk upsetting them further—just to keep a promise you made to me months ago.”

 

     “I’m not about to go back on what I said, just to try and save my own skin.”

     

     “You’d have made an appalling Slytherin then.”

 

     “The sorting hat nearly put me in Slytherin,” Harry admitted.

 

     “I’m glad it didn’t: being a Gryffindor really suits you, Potter.  You’re far too decent to be ruined in my despicable house.”

 

     Harry’s head swam at the unabashed flattery, and he couldn’t resist leaning in to hungrily kiss Malfoy.  Harry couldn’t wait for the evening to arrive—when they would next be able to have some private time.  Harry felt more than ready for Malfoy’s little ‘manual’ request, and he was now getting quite impatient to take things further.  They broke off at the sound of several footsteps and chattering.  It was some of the other Slytherin sixth years and a group of Gryffindors coming from different directions along the corridor.  Harry and Malfoy sheepishly moved out from the alcove and followed them into the classroom.

 

     “You might have Harry fooled, but I know what you _still_ are,” Millicent hissed at Malfoy as they passed where she had sat next to Hermione and Ron.  Malfoy just gave her a cold look and kept walking to a pair of empty seats on the other side of the room.  

 

     Snape noticed that Malfoy and Harry were sitting together, and he gave them a piercing look through narrowed eyes before addressing the rest of the class.  

 

     “If you have been paying attention, which I doubt, you will be aware that I now have the displeasure of teaching some of you for Defence Against the Dark Arts.  As a result of this extra teaching position, I now have rather a lot of work to prepare and organise over the coming weeks.  Therefore, I require assistance with a few things.  I am certain that at least one of you will ‘volunteer’ by giving me the opportunity to hand out a detention this lesson…”

 

     “Here we go again…” Harry muttered under his breath.

 

     “Shall I just paint a target on your head, Potter?” Malfoy joked, giving Harry a smirk.

 

     On the whole, Harry thought this was the most enjoyable Potions lesson he had had all year—or perhaps ever—despite the detentions received.  To everyone’s surprise, it was Malfoy who was the first to be given one—his first ever detention received in Potions.  During the lesson, Snape had overheard them making arrangements to meet up during their lunch break by the lake, and to Harry’s dismay, Snape had vindictively told Malfoy to report for his detention at the same time.  Harry was also given a detention soon after, but this was to be taken in the evening.  Snape was making it very obvious that he still did not approve of them spending time together.  Harry thought of his earlier ideas about who might have been in contact with Narcissa Malfoy.  _I can’t judge Snape’s involvement based on what he’s like towards us in class,_ Harry told himself.  _Loyal or not, I wouldn’t put it past him to just be reacting to his annoyance about Malfoy and me.  And even if he could hide his own personal feelings on the matter, I don’t think he’d want to be publicly seen as sympathetic to Malfoy._ Not being able to think of anything constructive on the matter, he put it out of his mind and instead concentrated on his work, enjoying the luxury of being next to Malfoy.  Working alongside Malfoy really helped with his understanding of the lesson, and it was bliss to finally be able to spend time in Malfoy’s company openly.  Even catching Ron and Hermione frequently looking over and whispering to each other, or the fact that Snape seemed to be happy to use both him and Malfoy for venom-target practise, didn’t dampen his mood.  Being in Malfoy’s company left Harry feeling relaxed, enabling him to concentrate on the potion he was making.  He could focus on what he was doing, just knowing that Malfoy was near and that they didn’t have to hide anything anymore.

 

     They reluctantly parted once more at lunchtime, each to their own table.  Harry sat by himself at the end of the Gryffindor table.  Malfoy did the same at the end of the Slytherin table, facing Harry and occasionally throwing silly grins his way.  After lunch, they said their goodbyes before Malfoy went off to his detention and Harry wandered back to the Gryffindor common room.  They would meet up again in Transfigurations, after Malfoy’s Arithmancy lesson.  Harry had a free period and was planning on spending his time studiously avoiding Ron, who would also be without a lesson to go to.

 

Back in the dorm, Harry bagged the books he would need for his later Transfigurations lesson, and he rushed down the stairs to make his way out of the Gryffindor tower.  Ron was sitting in the common room.

     

     “Your _boyfriend_ reckons that if it wasn’t for you he’d be off playing Death Eater by now,” Ron said as Harry made to walk past him towards the exit.  Harry stopped short.

 

“You’ve spoken to him?”  

 

“It wasn’t my idea.  He cornered me, when I was on my way up here at the end of lunchtime.  He told me you kept it quiet because you believed in him; because you knew that was the only way he was going to accept help from anyone.”

 

“I didn’t want to risk losing his confidence in me and going back to Voldemort.  Can’t you understand that?”

 

Ron nodded his head reluctantly, and Harry cautiously sat on the sofa opposite.  “I guess so.  That’s if he’s actually telling the truth about the Dark Mark.  Do you really believe he was going to get it?”

 

“Yes,” Harry affirmed.  Ron didn’t look impressed with this one word answer, so Harry added, “You didn’t see him, Ron, when he was supposed to be leaving.  I really don’t think he could’ve faked his feelings towards getting the Mark.”

 

“I still think you’re being a gullible idiot.”

 

Harry looked at Ron's expression, he didn't seem angry anymore.  Maybe bewildered or resigned, but there wasn't the same venom that Harry had seen earlier.  Harry smiled and gave a small chuckle in relief.  Ron smiled back before speaking again.

 

"I couldn't help noticing in Potions that when Millicent said she knew what Malfoy ‘still’ is he didn't exactly deny it."

 

"Was there any point?" Harry asked rhetorically.  "No one would have believed him."

 

"I suppose that's true… Look, I don't want to argue with you again, Harry.  But I do have a couple of questions going around my head."

 

"I'll keep my temper if you keep yours," Harry jested, prompting a smile from Ron.

 

"Why did you have to start… _dating_ him?  If you're that way inclined, why not Dean?  That would've been a shock, and I probably would have overreacted to that as well, but it would've been better than this."

 

Harry looked at him in amazement, appalled that Ron was serious in his implication that choosing whom you were attracted to could be that simple.  "Ron! That's like saying you should go out with someone like Lavender, just because you're male, she's female, and you're both straight."

 

Ron pulled a face at Lavender's name.  "You don't fancy Dean then?" Ron double-checked, a little awkwardly.  Harry just raised his eyebrows in response, unimpressed with the question.  "Do you realise that, between you and Dean, Seamus is worried that it's got something to do with him?"

 

"What do you mean?"

 

"Well, he was friends with Dean before the ball, and they always used to sit together.  Recently, it's been you who Seamus has been sitting next to…"

 

Harry's burst of laughter cut Ron off short.  _Poor Seamus, I've given him a complex!_  "Seamus certainly didn't have any bearing on things!  He's not my type, Ron—although I think he's probably Dean's."

 

Ron seemed amused by this, but there was something else he wasn't saying.  Harry could see that Ron was going over something in his mind.  Harry came to a sudden realisation.

 

"You're not my type, either, Ron.  You don't have to worry about me jumping you, or spying on you in the dorm."

 

"I never thought that you…" Ron began to deny, but then he decided to change tack.  "What's Malfoy got that I haven't!"

 

They both chuckled, and Harry felt the remaining tension between them dissipate.

 

"So, you've… _kissed_ him?" Ron asked, his face screwed up in disgust, a little unsure whether he wanted to hear the answer to this one.

 

"Yes, I have.  And before you ask anything else, think how you'd feel if I asked the same about you and Hermione."

 

"I have no intention of finding out about anything else that you and he get up to!" Ron asserted, and then he began to fidget in his seat, giving Harry the impression that another question was to follow.  Harry wasn't disappointed.  "So, if you and he are… well… you know… how come he can't even bring himself to call you Harry?"

 

"I guess it's because he's always known me as 'Potter'—I still call him Malfoy.  He's been Malfoy for so long now that it's hard to think of him as anything else." 

 

"I know _that_ feeling," Ron said.  Harry looked a bit confused, and Ron explained.  "To me, the name of Malfoyhas always been associated with a complete git, and so it feels bloody unnatural to think of him as anything other than a git."

 

"I _meant_ I don't think of him as 'Draco', and it would be dead weird if he started calling me Harry.  It's nice… it's just a 'thing' we have.  Like nicknames." And it was ‘nice’, more than nice, Harry realised, a way of relating that they shared which made him feel connected to Malfoy.  And the way Malfoy sometimes managed to intone his surname was downright naughty; Harry loved it.

 

Ron cringed at Harry's choice of description—the 'thing' that he and Malfoy had—but sat there quietly, resisting the temptation to pick holes in Harry's reasoning.  "You two did seem to get on really well, earlier.  I've never seen you enjoy Potions so much… But we're still worried about you, Harry."

 

"Thanks, Ron; that means a lot to me.  But you don't have to be so concerned.  I've trusted him with a whole heap of things.  He hasn't let me down so far."

 

"Even so… ever since we've been at Hogwarts he's had it in for you.  He's always been such a wanker."

 

"I know, and he knows it, too.  I think he's paid for a lot of the stuff he's done, in his own way.  And I know he cares about me… You should have heard him last night—seeing me nearly get bitten by Lupin freaked him out quite a bit."

 

"Last night, when you were _supposedly_ wandering the corridors alone? So you were with him when you found Trevor?"

 

"Please don't say anything, Ron.  If anyone else finds out he was around when Trevor turned up, they're bound to accuse Malfoy of setting it up."

 

"I wouldn't put it past him…"

 

"And six months ago, I wouldn't have put it past him, either.  I want to tell you more, Ron; I want to explain it all to you.  But I can't, not without telling you personal things about Malfoy that I've got no business telling anyone," Harry looked at Ron, pleading with his eyes for Ron to accept this.  "I don't want you to hate me over this, Ron."

 

"I don't hate you, Harry, I'm just angry at how you've handled it.  I don't trust Malfoy, and it's going to take one hell of a miracle to convince me he's changed—I still agree with Millicent that he's probably up to something," Ron stated, looking Harry straight in the eye.  "I don't think I can trust you completely at the moment, either.  But I don't hate you."

 

"I guess that's fair enough," Harry accepted, just pleased that he and Ron were back on speaking terms—thanks to Malfoy.

 

"We'd better get going," Ron announced, grabbing his bag and standing up.  "Transfigurations starts in a few minutes."

 

They walked together in a companionable silence.  Harry understood that Ron still wasn't comfortable with the ways things were, and he would probably take a long time to get used to him dating Malfoy.  At least the friction from this morning had dissipated.  When they arrived at the Transfiguration classroom, Harry saw that most of the class were already waiting in the corridor.  But Harry couldn't see either Hermione or Malfoy.  They approached Neville and Millicent, with Harry hanging back a few paces behind Ron, feeling awkward in their company.

 

"Where's Hermione?" Ron asked Neville.

 

"McGonagall came and got her out of Arithmancy," Neville said.  "They've found Crookshanks."

 

"Malfoy was taken out ten minutes later," Millicent added, pointedly staring at Harry as she said this. "So it seems he had something to do with it."

 

"But you don't _know_ that for certain," Harry cautiously pointed out.

 

"You really are naïve to think you know Malfoy that well—he's capable of taking absolutely anyone for a ride, Harry.  You especially."

 

Harry held back from responding to Millicent's comment, not wanting to risk an argument now that he'd smoothed things over with Ron.

 

The lesson was awkward, with Harry sitting on one side of Ron, and Neville and Millicent on the other; Millicent insisted on making the occasional dig.  Ron and Harry carefully kept any topic of conversation between them to the confines of the lesson.  He hoped Malfoy was all right, that he had been pulled out of the lesson for another reason.  He knew Malfoy wasn't to blame for Crookshanks' disappearance—after all, they had been together that evening.  _Dumbledore probably wants to talk to him about the howler,_ Harry assumed.  _I'll be able to speak to him after dinner, and then I can find out what's happened._

 


	10. Exposure

When Harry and Ron arrived at dinner, there still no sign of Hermione or Malfoy; Harry noticed that Professor Dumbledore was also absent from the Great Hall. Harry didn’t like this, not knowing what was going on. He had been kept in the dark far too many times about things that concerned him personally. He was fed up with not having the answers he needed, and right now, he needed to know that Malfoy was all right. Harry and Ron sat down together and began eating, neither one of them willing to talk about the obvious subject that loomed between them. The only noise punctuating their silence was the clatter of forks against their plates. Harry had no appetite, and he spent most of his time pushing food about his plate, interspersed with a few unmotivated mouthfuls. Seeing movement by the doors, he looked up; Hermione had arrived. But Malfoy still hadn’t turned up. As she walked closer, he could see that her eyes were red, but she was also happy. Seeing that Ron and Harry were sitting together and no longer arguing, she gave Harry a tight smile as she sat down opposite Ron.

 

“Is Crookshanks all right, Hermione?” Ron asked.

 

“Apart from physically resembling a manx cat in the tail department, he’s all right,” she confirmed as she helped herself to an excessive amount of cottage pie. “Hagrid is looking after him at the moment.”

 

“Where was he?” Harry tentatively asked, and he wished he hadn’t when Hermione looked at him coldly.

 

“Malfoy’s room.” 

 

“So you automatically assume he’s guilty,” Harry said, struggling to keep the annoyance out of his voice. So Malfoy _had_ been called out of the lesson over this. _But why hasn’t he returned?_ Harry wondered. _He should’ve told Dumbledore by now that I was with him… If there is still a question over his guilt, why haven’t I been called in?_ “There’s no _proof_ that he took Crookshanks,” he continued saying to Hermione. “If he’d taken the cat, he wouldn’t keep it openly in his room: he’d try to hide it. And don’t you think he would’ve rubbed your nose in it—like he did with me when he set me up with that Malaclaw?” 

 

“He wouldn’t be bragging about taking my cat if he’s trying to play the innocent, Harry.”

 

“Why hasn’t Crabbe, Goyle, or any of the others in his dorm been taken up to Dumbledore’s office, as well?” Harry asked, wishing that Hermione would give Malfoy a break.

 

“Because they were all in the common room with the other Slytherins on the night Crookshanks disappeared, and there was ginger fur all over Malfoy’s things.” 

 

“I _know_ he didn’t take your cat,” Harry stated defiantly. He knew that something was very wrong with the situation, and he could only think of two explanations for what had happened. Either Malfoy really was responsible, which Harry found impossible to believe, or that somebody had organised this to set him up.

 

“Oh, really,” Hermione responded sceptically. “And why are you so certain that he didn’t take Crookshanks?”

 

“Because I was with him the night that your cat disappeared,” Harry said, thinking back to the night in question—the night he and Malfoy had first kissed—and he smiled to himself at the memory. “Don’t you remember? I turned up in the common room late that evening, and you told me that you had spent the evening looking for your cat?”

 

“But,” Hermione continued unperturbed, “if this _is_ all one big scheme on Malfoy’s behalf, don’t you think he would have conned someone else to do his dirty work? It sounds as if he’s got you pinned as the perfect alibi.” 

 

“It does make sense, Harry,” Ron agreed sheepishly. “If he’s as innocent as you say he is, then why hasn’t he returned from Dumbledore’s office?”

 

“I think somebody is trying to frame Malfoy,” Harry insisted. He looked alternately at Ron and Hermione. _Come on, go with me on this one, guys… It’s something that needs solving, like we used to do_ — _together._

 

“Who on earth would go to all this trouble of setting Malfoy up?” Hermione asked in disbelief. “It’s a bit extreme, Harry.”

 

“Even I wouldn’t bother with stealing pets and making potions just to get at Malfoy,” Ron pointed out. “And you know how much _I_ hate him.” 

 

Hermione’s face softened and she reached across the table to hold Harry’s hand. “I know this is hard to take, Harry, it’s not nice to feel let down by someone, but you can’t ignore—”

 

“Hermione, you don’t have to patronise me,” he responded icily, snatching his hand away.

 

“Harry…” Ron warned.

 

“Just tell me this, Harry. Have you actually asked yourself _what if_?” Hermione asked, looking at Harry determinedly. “ _What if_ you are wrong? Because I’m worried that ignoring that particular question might be clouding your judgement.”

 

“But _what if_ I’m right, Hermione?” Harry responded. “Malfoy has a lot of enemies, especially in Slytherin. What if someone else is responsible, and they get away with this—and possibly do something similar in the future—just because everyone is just assuming that Malfoy’s guilty?” _I want to prove Malfoy didn’t do it, but I’m not sure I can do this by myself,_ Harry realised. _Not if I’m going to be fighting with Hermione and Ron at the same time._ He let his gaze flick between Hermione and Ron, and then he decided to test their friendship. “I want to find out what’s really happened, but I’ll need your help. Please? At least humour me for a while…”

 

Hermione studied him for a moment before sharing a look with Ron that Harry couldn’t interpret. 

 

“Okay, we’ll help,” she relented. “But you’ve got to assume that Millicent’s innocent as well: I’m only going to help out while there are reasonable alternatives.”

 

“So what’s the plan?” Ron asked around a mouthful of treacle sponge and custard.

 

“I guess the first thing I need to do is speak to Dumbledore. Find out why Malfoy hasn’t returned from his office yet, and why I haven’t been asked to go up there. If they think Malfoy is responsible, then they should have at least asked me to confirm where he’s been. Hopefully, speaking to Dumbledore will give me more to go on.”

 

“We’ll come with you,” Hermione assured him. “Once we’ve all finished eating.”

 

After dinner, the three of them walked to the stone gargoyle, Harry feeling immensely relieved that Hermione and Ron had agreed to help him—even though it seemed there wasn’t anything specific they could do apart from offer him their moral support.

 

Professor McGonagall was waiting by the entrance to the headmaster’s office as they approached.

 

“Please, can we speak to Professor Dumbledore?” Harry asked. “It’s about Malfoy.”

 

“I’m afraid the headmaster is busy at the moment, Mr Potter. I’ll let him know that you were here and wanted to speak to him.”

 

“Why hasn’t he called me up, though? I…” Harry persisted.

 

“I’m afraid I cannot answer any of your questions,” Professor McGonagall interrupted sternly. “You will have to wait until Professor Dumbledore is available to see you.” 

 

They trudged back the way they came, Harry feeling increasingly disheartened. He tried to think how they could begin to find out who was responsible, but there was no obvious plan for him to follow. He remembered the last time he acted on impulse without a plan: Sirius had ended up dead. Harry was keen to avoid making that mistake again.

 

“So what do we do next?” Hermione asked.

 

“I don’t know,” Harry admitted. “Go back to the common room and make a list, I suppose—we could start off with those who might be able to get a message to Malfoy’s family.”

 

“And it’s got to be somebody in our year who’s involved, because only sixth years had lessons with Professor Lupin yesterday morning,” Hermione added.

 

They carried on, slightly more enthusiastically than before, now that they had _something_ to work on. As they passed back by the entrance to the Great Hall, they nearly ran into Pansy Parkinson coming out.

 

“Poor little Potter,” Pansy commented unsympathetically, and Harry automatically stopped, surprised that he was being addressed. “Too bad Malfoy let you down and lured you in on false pretences. Don’t take it personally, Potter; you’re not the first.”

 

Harry immediately tensed. The only other person who had called him Potter recently was Malfoy. Malfoy had made that name special, and she didn’t have the right to use it—especially not to gloat like that. _Why does she have to rub it in, anyway? I guess she might be feeling a bit put out that I’m the one seeing Malfoy now, and she isn’t._

 

“Stay out of it, Parkinson, Malfoy hasn’t done anything!” he snapped before continuing to walk towards the Gryffindor common room.

 

“Oh, come on, be realistic, Potter!” Pansy carried on, her voice becoming quite shrill. “Admit it, Harry, _loverboy’s_ done you over. Haven’t you noticed the _stack_ of evidence against him? It’s very well known that his father is a Death Eater—a scheme to get in your pants would be just Malfoy’s style, and this would’ve made a very amusing way for You-Know-Who to get to you. Malfoy was there when Lupin was poisoned. He’s been highly secretive since Christmas—and I doubt that that’s just because he’s been screwing around with you,” she curled up lip in disgust at this point. 

 

Glancing at Hermione and Ron, Harry noticed that they had both squared their shoulders and were looking very threateningly in Pansy’s direction. _You really are a stupid cow, Parkinson,_ Harry thought. _You’re just helping convince them that maybe Malfoy isn’t that guilty after all._ Pansy kept talking, oblivious that she was helping to cement Hermione and Ron’s support in Harry’s cause _._

“Trevor just _happens_ to turn up when he’s around, only with you as a convenient alibi. Crookshanks was found in his room, with ginger fur all over his things. And now, Dumbledore’s detained him for the past couple of hours. If anything should convince you, it’s the fact that even the headmaster doesn’t trust him… Anyway, there’s no point in rushing to his rescue—it’s too late, Fudge turned up just before dinner, so Malfoy’s probably already at the Ministry by now. Putting students at risk from a werewolf is something they take _very_ seriously.”

 

“The M…Ministry…” Harry stammered. _Dumbledore can’t let him be taken there_ — _he promised to protect Malfoy. There’s bound to be someone working at the Ministry who supports Voldemort, someone who might enable Lucius to get to him…_ Harry stood in the hallway, unable to move. He was both anxious about Malfoy and also fuming that Pansy could be such an irritating cow. _How dare she…_ Then Harry did a double take, something Pansy had said wasn’t quite right.

 

“Hang on… What did you just say about Trevor?” Harry asked, studying the expression on Pansy’s face, but she seemed oblivious to what she had said.

 

“I said that, just because he’s got you as an alibi when Trevor was found, it doesn’t mean he didn’t set the whole thing up beforehand.” 

 

“How do you know he was there?” Harry asked surprised that Pansy wasn’t aware of the implications of what she was saying.

 

“It doesn’t take a genius to work out what you were doing there. You, out late at night, in the Room of Requirement… I don’t need three guesses to know that you were busy sticking your tongue down each other’s throats!” She glared at Harry challengingly for having the cheek to move in on _her_ territory.

 

“I never said I…” Harry trailed off. He realised that he was starting to shake. He could understand that others might link his being out late to meeting up with Malfoy… but _no one_ knew he had found Trevor in the Room of Requirement. So how did Pansy find out? Was she responsible for this? It would certainly fit. But why, and how could _she_ , of _all_ people, have pulled off that potion? _Malfoy had mentioned that she only managed to get a D for potions at O.W.L. level. She can’t have been working by herself…_ Harry had also overheard plenty of people talking about him during the day—not once had last night’s activities been a part of that gossip. Could she have heard it from someone else?

 

“I need to know who told you I was in the Room of Requirement. Who started that rumour?” he asked coldly, his hands now balled into fists, his back ramrod straight through tension.

 

“You are joking, aren’t you? Get your head out of the sand, Potter. _Everybody_ is talking about you and Malfoy. The speculations started this morning, after the howler—and they came from all directions. And here I was, thinking that he was just impotent… But then I might still be right—after all, he _was_ just using you.”

 

Harry glared at her before storming away down the corridor. He knew that, if he stayed there any longer, there’d be far too much risk of him losing what little control he had left over his temper; punching her would not do anything to help Malfoy. Behind him, Ron and Hermione rushed to keep up.

 

“Why does she think you were in the Room of Requirement, Harry?” Hermione asked, a bit breathless from the pace he had now set.

 

“Because I was…” he admitted. “But nobody was supposed to know that.”

 

“So, we need to find out who it came from,” Hermione pointed out. “I find it hard to believe that someone as dense as Pansy would be capable of pulling off a potion like the one used on Lupin.” Hermione frowned as she thought of something else. “Harry, if this is all linked to Lupin, what would she be doing there the day _after_ his drink was spiked with the potion?”

 

Harry shrugged, not understanding it himself. “Maybe she was in the middle of trying to frame Malfoy with something else,” he guessed. “When we went there last night, the room was already set up as a potions lab—”

 

“Potter!”

 

Harry jumped at the sound of Snape’s voice, and he felt his insides twist uncomfortably as he realised where he was supposed to be at that moment.

 

“Too important for detentions are we, Potter?”

 

“Sorry, Sir. I wanted to find out what was happening with Malfoy,” Harry confessed, hoping that Snape might understand the potential gravity of the situation.

 

Snape briefly seemed to be taken aback at Harry’s honesty, but he soon regained his former scornful composure. 

 

“But having finished finding _other_ things to take priority over your detention, you _still_ seem to be walking in the wrong direction.”

 

“Sorry, I… after everything I…”

 

“I’ll hear no more of your pathetic excuses,” Snape barked. “Come with me.”

 

“We’ll see what we can do, Harry,” Hermione assured him as she and Ron left him.

 

Only an hour later, Harry was able to return to the common room. Hermione and Ron looked up from their discussion with Neville, surprised that Harry had arrived back so early.

 

“What did you do to Snape?” Ron joked as Harry sat down opposite them. “Did you hex him? Or have you recruited him to defend Malfoy’s honour as well?”

 

“McGonagall turned up and said that Dumbledore wanted to speak with him; she didn’t say what about,” Harry informed them. “So, I’ve done half my detention tonight, and I’ve got to finish it tomorrow lunchtime. Have you found out anything?”

 

“I’ve spoken to Millicent,” Hermione began, and Harry tried not to pull a face at the mention of Millicent. “She’s been asking around the other Slytherins. Of all those she spoke to, the only people who know you were in the Room of Requirement had heard it from Pansy.”

 

“Also,” Neville added. “Apparently, Pansy has been sneaking off to see someone, but Millicent hasn’t been able to find out who it is. She _had_ assumed Pansy was only doing it in order to make Malfoy jealous, but now she’s not so sure.”

 

“I’m going to get my cloak out and follow her around this evening,” Harry decided. “I’ll see who she speaks to and what she says. Hopefully she’ll let something slip.” 

 

“Be careful,” Hermione said anxiously. “Whoever created that potion is potentially very dangerous. If you’re right, and it isn’t Malfoy, then they may be expecting you to start nosing around. Harry, is there anything else that _we_ can do to help?”

 

“I can’t think of anything at the moment. Just keep your ears open, I suppose. Thanks for helping me so far, it’s good to know that you’re on my side.”

 

He pulled his invisibility cloak on after exiting the Gryffindor Tower, and he began to walk down to the dungeons. He would have to wait outside the entrance to the Slytherin common room and hope that he could sneak in behind someone. But to Harry’s surprise, he didn’t have to. On his way down to the dungeons, Harry saw Pansy coming towards him, heading in the opposite direction and looking very pleased with herself. 

 

Harry turned and followed her. At first, he thought she was going down to the kitchens, but she continued on past the entrance. _Where is she going?_ Harry wondered. _This leads to a couple of classrooms, Hufflepuff Tower, and the Quidditch pitch. Has she arranged to meet someone?_ Turning a corner, she slowed and looked about her. Once she seemed satisfied that no one was about, she opened a door on her left and went in. Harry snuck in as she turned around to close the door behind her. The classroom was lit by moonlight that was coming in from a couple of high windows. _This is the Ancient Runes classroom,_ Harry realised. _This was the room Malfoy and I were in_ — _when I invited him to stay at the Dursley’s over the summer. Had Pansy overheard us talking? Had she been responsible for what happened to Aunt Petunia?_

 

Pansy made her way to the back of the classroom, and pulled out a chair, placing it in front of a towering bookcase filled with dusty old tomes. Harry watched as she climbed onto the chair and reached up, pressing the first brick above the bookcase, then the third, then the fifth brick. She repeated this, pressing the bricks in the same order, after which Harry heard a click. Looking down at the bookcase, he could see that its left side had come away from the wall by about an inch. Pansy climbed back down from the chair, and moved it out of the way before clasping her fingers around the side of the bookcase and pulling, swinging it open like a door. Harry expected it to be heavy and stiff, but Pansy had opened it easily as if it were on wheels. She slipped behind the bookcase, disappearing into the darkness beyond. Harry kept close, the only light coming in from the classroom behind them. It led along a short narrow corridor, and then up a steep flight of steps. _This isn’t on the Marauder’s Map,_ he absently noted. _I’ll have to work out how to add it on. But where does it come out?_

 

As they came to the top, the stairway opened out into a small round room—about a third of the size of the room he shared with Ron and the others. There were a few cushions scattered across the floor that Harry could make out from light coming in along a crack that lined the ceiling. Pansy decisively walked across the room and through a doorway on the other side. A tiny passage lay beyond, which she had to practically crawl along. This turned a bend and seemed to be a dead end. Then Harry noticed a small handle that was only a couple of feet up from the floor. Slowly, Pansy turned it and then pulled; it was a small door. Opening the door a crack, she leant down to cautiously peak out. Over the top of her head, Harry could make out the end of a four-poster bed; the tunnel had led to a dormitory.

 

“Psst!” Pansy whispered to an unknown person in the room beyond. “Is it safe?”

 

“Yes,” came a reply.

 

_That sounds like Ernie Macmillan!_ Harry thought. _But it can’t be! He wouldn’t have anything to do with Pansy Parkinson. I must’ve misheard._

 

But the voice continued, and Harry was amazed to acknowledge that, yes, it really _was_ Ernie Macmillan.

 

“The others have gone to mess around on the Quidditch pitch,” Ernie informed her. “But I should think they’ll be back in about ten minutes. Madam Hooch normally kicks them off about half nine.”

 

“Ten minutes is all I need, darling,” Pansy said seductively.

 

_I hope she’s not implying what I think she’s implying,_ Harry worried. _I can’t sit here and watch her and Ernie… Ugh, no… Please don’t!_

 

She opened the door wider for to Ernie to come in then began to come back along the passage, with Ernie following behind. Harry did a quick u-turn and hurried back to the previous room.

 

As soon as they were out of the passage and the door was closed, Pansy had Ernie pinned against the wall and was kissing him.

 

Harry shuddered silently underneath his cloak _. I really don’t want to be watching this._

 

“If they come back early, you can do what you did the other night,” Pansy said as she leaned back to unzip the front of his trousers. “Nip round the back and tell them you went to the library.”

 

Ernie and Pansy lay down and made themselves comfortable amongst the cushions. Harry cringed as they loosened each other’s clothing and hands began to explore more intimate areas, with heavy breathing and moans filling the air. 

 

“As this is only going to be a quickie, can I come back later?” Pansy asked, sounding quite breathless.

 

“Not tonight; my uncle wants me to contact him again.”

 

_Why would Ernie be contacting his uncle at this time of night?_ Harry wondered. _What is going on?_

Pansy was now sitting astride Ernie and grinding on top of him furiously. Harry couldn’t help himself but look, all the while trying to keep his breathing steady and quiet. He could see Ernie’s hands running over bare skin and then grabbing hold of her hips to drive her down onto him harder and faster. He could see her sliding up and down, and hear their grunts and pants sounding round the little room. The atmosphere was now thick with smell of sex, and Harry couldn’t restrain his body’s own response. But he had no desire to join in; their physicality just reminded him of Malfoy, of how close he had been waiting to get with Malfoy. He could feel his own breathing and heart rate gradually increase; the temptation to bring himself off while they were busy in the throes of sex was almost too much to ignore. He got as far as stroking himself through his trousers when Ernie and Pansy both began to jerk frantically against one another. Ernie gave a shout, and she let out a low guttural sound. Then Pansy collapsed on top of him, and they both lay still against one another, breathing hard.

 

Pansy was the first to speak.

 

“Do you think they get up to anything as exciting as that?” she asked, lifting her head and tracing a finger along Ernie’s chest.

 

“You’re not going on about Malfoy again, are you?”

 

“I’m curious! I want to know if Draco lets Potter stick his…”

 

“Don’t say it! I don’t want the mental image, thank you!”

 

“…Or whether Potter lets him…”

 

“Pansy!”

 

“Or whether they’re both just frightened by the thought of getting physical!”

 

“I really don’t care,” Ernie pushed her off him in a huff, and he stood up to do up his clothing. “I’d better be getting back to the dorm.”

 

Pansy straightened her own clothes, and then ran her arms around the back of Ernie’s neck, kissing him slowly and deeply. 

 

“I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then, darling. You’ll have to let me know if your uncle wants me to do anything else.”

 

Harry frowned, _what would Ernie’s uncle possibly want Pansy to do?_

 

Having begun his investigation by following Pansy, Harry almost made to follow Pansy back down the stairs, but then checked himself. _I want to know what Ernie’s contacting his uncle about._ He turned round and made his way along the cramped passageway behind Ernie. Ernie opened the half-sized door once more and looked out. Happy that the dorm was still empty, he pulled the door wide open and went out, bending over to get through the small opening. Harry quickly squeezed through the door behind Ernie to get out before Ernie closed it.

 

Harry looked around at Ernie’s dormitory. It was an exact replica of Harry’s dorm in the Gryffindor Tower, only with yellow and black colouring rather than red and gold. There were five beds, five desks, and three windows—and a secret passageway. _Or do all of the dormitories have them?_ Once Ernie had shut the door, Harry did a double take. The section of the wall where the door had been now looked identical to the rest of the wall: the edges of the door were imperceptible. Ernie lay back down on his bed and began to read his Potions text; Harry sat on the floor next to the bed. After only a couple of minutes, he could hear the noise of other students thumping and chattering on their way up the stairs: it was the other sixth years that Ernie shared his room with. The door opened with a bang, and they barged in, disrupting the silence of the room.

 

“Still at it, Ernie?” Wayne asked, flopping down on the bed opposite. “You missed out on a great game. Even Justin joined in tonight…”

 

“Well, I’ve been busy,” Ernie replied haughtily. “We’ve got our exams in a couple of weeks, and I want to make sure I do as much as last year when we took the O.W.L.s. I’ve got to be ready for next year: we’re going to have to study even harder then. I’m still managing between eight and nine hours a day—just like last year.”

 

Harry was stunned. How could Ernie sound so sincere? How could he brazenly lie about what he had _really_ been up to?

 

“If you’ll excuse me,” Ernie said, getting up from the bed and carrying his textbook with him. “The common room should be quieter now, so I’m going to go down to do more studying. I’ve got another hour to do before bed, if I want to keep up to my schedule.”

 

“Yeah, night Ernie,” they called out, sounding amused at Ernie’s obsession with studying.

 

The Hufflepuff common room was rectangular and low-ceilinged, with the entrances to the dormitories opening out on one long side. Pillars lined the length of the room, with four on each side. On one of the short sides was the main entrance to the common room and on the other side opposite was a large ornate fireplace. Two sofas were at an angle facing the fire, and dotted around the rest of the room were tables surrounded by comfy chairs. Ernie sat by one of the pillars, on the side opposite the stairway to the dormitory, out of the way of the few remaining Hufflepuffs. Harry moved to sit behind him, closer to the wall. _I wish he’d hurry up and contact his uncle,_ Harry moaned to himself. _Surely he’s got to go down to the Owlery for that. It’s going to be too late if he leaves it much longer._ But Ernie remained in the common room, and he just opened up his book beginning to read. There was nothing Harry could do but wait. 

 

Apart from turning a page every now and then, it was half an hour before Ernie moved. There were no more students in the common room and hadn’t been for about ten minutes. The noise from the dormitories had faded, and it sounded as if the other occupants of Hufflepuff were now sleeping. Ernie looked up from his book and cocked his head to one side, listening. When he seemed satisfied, he pulled a ring out of his pocket and turned the gem on top of it sharply to one side and back again. After a few seconds, Harry saw the gem glow red. 

 

Ernie rose out of his seat, and he walked to stand in front of the fire. From where Harry sat, the fireplace was partially obscured by a pillar. As the room was completely noiseless and Harry didn’t want to risk drawing attention to himself by moving, he opted to remain where he was.

 

Moments after the gem had glowed, a head appeared in the fire.

 

It was Ernie’s uncle, Errol Pleinius Maudrey.

 

“Well, what on earth is going on, boy?” Errol Maudrey asked gruffly.

 

“What do you mean?” Ernie replied, with surprise in his voice. “Don’t you have him yet?”

 

“No! Dumbledore is refusing to let the Ministry take him out of Hogwarts, and I want to know why! If I find out it’s because of the howler that stupid, over reactive woman sent… Lucius has no bloody control over her, whatsoever…”

 

Harry’s jaw dropped; he could only assume they were discussing Malfoy. But why was Ernie’s uncle pushing to get Malfoy removed from Hogwarts? What did Errol Maudrey want with him? 

 

“I don’t know why he’s still here,” Ernie admitted. “I did what you said with that mangy cat.”

 

“You weren’t seen?”

 

“No, I got Parkinson to put it in his room.”

 

“And it was _in_ his room this time?” Errol Maudrey asked, wanting clarification. “Not just abandoned in the Slytherin common room like that incompetent girl did with the jar of bezoars?”

 

“Yeah, I had a go at her for that—she said that Crabbe and Goyle were hanging around before.”

 

“Hmm, maybe we need something else to seal the brat’s fate. Lucius Malfoy is _very_ keen to see him in person.”

 

_He’s doing this_ for _Lucius Malfoy? And Ernie_ knows _!_ Harry was stunned. After what had happened to Ernie’s father last year, Harry found it hard to believe that Ernie would ever have _anything_ to do with Death Eaters. And yet, here was his uncle proving otherwise.

 

The head disappeared for a moment. When he returned, Ernie’s uncle held out a stone from the fire. 

 

“Take this,” he ordered. “Put it in his Quidditch robes. If we still can’t get at Draco Malfoy by the morning, I’ll get the Ministry to go through the rest of his things.”

 

“This is one of those bezoars,” Ernie recognised. “What was it used for—that potion you made for Lupin?”

 

“It’ll look less suspicious if you don’t know, or at least _claim_ you don’t know,” Errol Maudrey asserted. “I hear Lupin is no longer teaching at the school. Such a shame, he was a particularly convenient test-subject. Never mind, it looks as if we’ve worked out the potion adequately enough.”

 

“What about the toad pus?” Ernie asked. “I don’t think I’m going to be able to get my hands on Neville’s toad again—not now that Potter’s handed it back.”

 

“Yes, well, ideally we could’ve done with another batch,” Errol Maudrey replied, less than pleased. “But you’ll be pleased to know what you have collected and brewed was a success. Although it may take a longer with the small amount you gave me yesterday, we can now clone the right type of toad eyes. A wonderful combination of Muggle technology and magic, don’t you think? Do you know how difficult it is to get hold of supposedly ‘common’ spadefoot toads? Bloody Muggles are wiping them out…” Errol Maudrey shook his head, distracted for a moment, and then he focused his gaze once more on Ernie. “Is there anything else? You look as if there’s some sort of problem.”

 

“I think Potter suspects something. From what I’ve heard, he’s adamant that Malfoy isn’t responsible. It won’t be long before he starts nosing around.”

 

“Like I said yesterday, the only thing that matters now is that we get Draco Malfoy out of Hogwarts: the Ministry must believe he is responsible. The potion has been tested, and it worked, which the main point behind that little exercise—never mind that Potter, or anyone else for that matter, wasn’t hurt. It doesn’t matter if Potter goes sniffing around now. They can’t associate you with anything. Pansy would look guiltier than you ever could. And no one would ever suspect you being involved with that little trollop.”

 

Harry, feeling stiff after having been sitting in the same position for so long, carefully stood up and slowly stretched under his cloak. He could’ve sworn he saw Ernie’s uncle glance briefly in his direction. Could Errol Maudrey see through the cloak as Dumbledore could?

 

“You really can be an idiot sometimes, Ernie,” Errol Maudrey spat at Ernie before his head disappeared from the fire. The next moment, Errol Maudrey was standing there, in the Hufflepuff common room, having floo’ed from wherever he had been.

 

“ _Accio cloak_!” he yelled as he pointed his wand in Harry’s direction. 

 

_He_ can _see through the cloak…_ Harry realised; he was exposed.

 

At the instant he saw Errol Maudrey’s mouth move again, Harry instinctively drew his own wand, casting a spell to deflect whatever was coming in his direction.

 

“ _Expelliarmus!”_

_“Protego!”_

“My, my, we _are_ good, aren’t we, Harry?” Errol Maudrey said silkily, walking forward. Harry moved further round the pillar, keeping it between himself and Errol. “Looks like a little memory charm wouldn’t go amiss, though…”

 

_“Obliviate!”_ But Harry was ready for that one as well.

 

_“Protego!”_

“Ernie!” Ernie’s uncle shouted at him. “Stop standing there like a lemon. Come and help me. Go round the back there, will you!”

 

Harry whipped round the other side of the pillar as Ernie moved forward, catching Ernie by surprise.

 

“Sorry, Ernie,” he mumbled, not entirely sure why or, in fact, _if_ he was sorry. “ _Petrificus Totalus!”_

Ernie fell to the floor, his entire body rigid, legs clamped together and his arms forced to his sides. 

 

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry could see Errol Maudrey appear from behind and raise his wand once more. All Harry could do was dive for cover behind one of the chairs and hope that the spell missed.

 

_“Stupefy!”_

He felt magic hit his leg as he launched himself forwards. He landed heavily, knocking his head against a table on the way down. The world blurred and everything gradually went black, with Harry hoping that the raised voices he thought he could hear were not his imagination. _Don’t let him get away with this, don’t let him get Malfoy…_

 

When Harry came round, it was too bright and everything ached, his head especially. His scar thrummed with discontent, and the back of his head felt bruised. Opening his eyes a crack, he looked over at the shape on his left. It was Malfoy, nonchalantly reading a copy of _Quidditch Weekly_.

 

“Malfoy,” he croaked. Harry reached out to touch him. _He’s still here: the Ministry hasn’t gotten to him._

Malfoy beamed at Harry, and he held the outstretched hand firmly.

 

“So you’ve woken up, at last. I hear you’ve been playing the hero, again. Harry, are you _ever_ going to learn? Or are you just trying to top my last stunt?” 

 

Harry gave a weak smile in return, and he squeezed at the warm fingers interlaced with his own.

 

“Are you okay?” Harry asked, slowly regaining control over his vocal cords. “I was worried that you’d been sent to the Ministry.”

 

“Fudge wanted me there,” Malfoy said dismissively. “He was furious when Dumbledore refused to let him take me. I would’ve loved to have seen the look on Fudge’s face when he found out who was really responsible: he was convinced it was me!”

 

“Is that why did Dumbledore kept you in his office yesterday?” Harry asked. “I tried to speak to him, but McGonagall wouldn’t let me; she just said he was busy.”

 

“It was partly because the Ministry was being funny about it,” Malfoy explained. “Dumbledore thought that it wouldn’t be a bad thing if the real guilty party was given a false sense of confidence. He also implied that keeping you out of the loop would probably be the best way to incite you to go snooping around—that old codger knows you quite well, doesn’t he!”

 

Harry chuckled, but had to stop when his head started to swim. “What happened to Ernie and his uncle?”

 

“They’ve been taken to the Ministry for questioning,” Malfoy stated. “Looks like his uncle might end up in Azkaban. Apparently Ernie’s mum has been causing havoc at the Ministry for months… Dumbledore reckons Errol Maudrey had both Ernie and his mum under the Imperius curse ever since they moved in with him.” 

 

“So much for the Maudreys being well-known for staying out of things.”

 

“Who told you _that_?” Malfoy asked incredulously.

 

“Ron did, when Ernie’s dad was killed.”

 

“I’d double check anything _he_ tells you in future,” Malfoy said with disdain. “ _I_ could’ve told you that Errol Maudrey’s done business with my father for years.”

 

“Have you heard anything…” Harry began to ask, but trailed off when he saw Malfoy sadly shake his head. It was silly to hope that Malfoy might get back _some_ connection to his family; there seemed to be no going back for him now.

 

The doors to the hospital wing opened, and Professor Dumbledore walked in, smiling at both Malfoy and Harry.

 

“Ah, Harry. It’s good to see you’re awake.”

 

“What happened, sir?” Harry asked. He was starting to feel less groggy, and he had a lot more questions making an appearance in his thoughts. “How did you find me?”

 

“Whereas conversations through the floo network are allowed to be conducted privately at Hogwarts, unauthorised whole body movement does not go unnoticed,” the headmaster informed him. “As soon as Mr Maudrey arrived in the Hufflepuff common room, I was alerted, and the floo system was blocked.”

 

Harry frowned; he was starting to remember more details about the previous evening. “Sir, Errol Maudrey gave a bezoar to Ernie. It was to be planted in Draco’s Quidditch robes…”

 

“Yes, yes… That was found on Ernie’s person.”

 

“Can I ask why it was so important?”

 

“You may. It was used in the potion given to Professor Lupin in order to prevent the more potent ingredients from poisoning him. The stone absorbed certain qualities from the potion, and so it serves as a record of what it was used for.” Dumbledore looked upon Harry with concern. “I don’t wish to press you for information, but I find I am at a loss to explain all the details of what has happened adequately. I have my suspicions, but that is all… Harry, do you know of any other student who might have been involved: someone who had access to the Slytherin Tower?”

 

“Yes, sir. It was Pansy Parkinson.”

 

“Parkinson!” Malfoy spluttered. “Why that little…” He trailed off, remembering that the headmaster was right next to him. He looked up at Dumbledore. “But she left this morning, didn’t she? I thought her parents turned up.”

 

“Yes, she has left,” Dumbledore acknowledged. “I suspect that, once she heard what had happened to Ernie, she immediately sent an owl home. At least we do not have to worry about any unidentified students.” He turned to Harry. “Now, for the time being, I suggest you rest. You have been excused from classes this morning, and you may join the other students for lunch. I believe that you may have other visitors arrive during break time, which should be in about 10 minutes.” 

 

“Sir,” Harry called out before Dumbledore turned to leave. “What is going to happen to Professor Lupin? Is he going to be all right?”

 

“Now that Voldemort has access to a potion that can render a werewolf dangerous at any time, Professor Lupin will have to lie low until we can find a way to counter that potion. In the meantime, we can only hope that they do not have access to the ingredients they require, otherwise there will undoubtedly be more attacks of a similar nature in the future.”

 

“I know they can get hold of more toad eyes without any trouble, sir,” Harry informed Dumbledore. “I overheard Errol Maudrey talking about being able to clone them.”

 

“That is not good news,” Dumbledore gravely acknowledged. “Thank you for informing me, Harry.”

 

The headmaster smiled warmly at both Harry and Draco before shuffling out of the hospital wing. As soon as the door was shut, Harry looked at Malfoy with a frown.

 

“Why aren’t you in lessons, Malfoy?” 

 

“Because they couldn’t tear me from your side…” 

 

“Yeah, right. I _know_ Dumbledore wouldn’t let you pull that!” 

 

“I’ve got a free period,” Malfoy relented. “And we’ve got ten minutes. Are you up to being taken advantage of before anyone turns up?”

 

Harry couldn’t restrain an enormous grin from appearing; within an instant, Malfoy was standing up and leaning over him. Their lips met, and Harry parted his to deepen the kiss, but Malfoy leant back with a scowl.

 

“You taste foul, Potter!” he pointed out, amused. “I think I’ll try again once you’ve brushed your teeth! And don’t pout—you look too damn sexy when you pout. What do you say to meeting up at lunch?”

 

“By the lake, like we were going to…” Harry trailed off and pulled a face. “I can’t, I’ve got to finish my detention off at lunch.”

 

“Well, I suppose I can wait until tonight,” Malfoy said, leaning forward and softly kissing behind Harry’s earlobe. “But we are going to have to think seriously about where we can go. I heard at breakfast that, thanks to big-mouth Parkinson, e _veryone_ has been reminded about the Room of Requirement; we won’t get any privacy there.”

 

“Who’s on speaking terms with _you_?” Harry asked, surprised.

 

“Bulstrode!” Malfoy said, equally surprised. “Granger also said hello this morning, and she even forced Weasley to give me a _grimace_ of a smile!”

 

Pleased that the others were starting to accept Malfoy, Harry pulled him into an awkward hug. 

 

“You realise that you’re going to have to thank them?”

 

Malfoy pulled back slightly with a pained look on his face.

 

“They helped me, yesterday,” Harry explained. “They were willing to snoop around for me, to give you the benefit of the doubt.”

 

“I think you’ll have to find an ingenious way to convince me,” Malfoy said suggestively.

 

“Oh, I will,” Harry reassured him, pulling him close once more, this time kissing his neck. “And don’t worry too much about the Room of Requirement,” he murmured into Malfoy’s ear. “I’ve found somewhere else. Although, I think you’re going have to carry out some positive-reinforcement therapy on me: I’ll probably be a little bit traumatised when I first go back there.”

 

“Positive-reinforcement therapy is not a problem. Tonight, Potter, I’m going to thank you _properly_ for clearing my name. And there’ll be _no_ alarm clocks this time!”

 

“Not even to let us know when we should be going down to breakfast?”

 

Malfoy beamed at Harry’s suggestion and at what else it implied. A whole night without having to worry about getting back to their rooms and the opportunity to sleep together without having to go back to an empty bed afterwards. Harry couldn’t wait. They might not be able to try their luck at getting a bed in the Room of Requirement, and the room he was planning to take Malfoy had a pretty disturbing memory attached to it, but Harry had a hunch that _no one_ in the school knew about this little hiding place. 

 

He smiled to himself and held onto Malfoy tightly, kissing that soft skin and not wanting to let go. After the stresses of the past few days, Harry finally felt content. He had Malfoy, he didn’t have to hide their relationship, and he still had his friends. He then thought back to how things had seemed at the beginning of the year; he had felt lost, and he had been overwhelmed by the prophecy with no conviction that he would be able to see it through. It was still a scary prospect, but with Malfoy in the picture, Harry now had someone to fight for.


	11. Epilogue

Hermione and Ron had reacted much better than had been anticipated, Harry mused as he hurried down the corridors to his rendezvous with Malfoy. When he said that he couldn’t tell them where he and Malfoy would be meeting, and that he wouldn’t see them until breakfast, Harry expected at least a bit of resistance. All he had gotten in response was a pair of wide eyes from Ron and a worried expression from Hermione. Harry smiled. His friends really were trying hard to get used to the fact of him and Malfoy being together. 

 

He met with Malfoy as planned, and they spent a few moments getting reacquainted with each other in the corridor before Harry insisted they move on to somewhere more private. Malfoy was fascinated by the secret door and passageway, and as soon as they arrived in the circular room, Malfoy had only spent a brief moment to take in his surroundings before noticing the door opposite. 

 

“Where does that door lead to?”

 

“The Hufflepuff dormitory.”

 

“Really?” Malfoy immediately scooted straight to door, and then he headed out along the passage.

 

“Malfoy! Be careful—you don’t want to risk anyone finding out about this, do you?”

 

“Trust me, Potter,” Malfoy grinned back round the door. “I wouldn’t risk this spot for the world!” 

 

At the end of the passageway, Malfoy listened for a few minutes with his ear to the door. Finally, he opened it and peeked out.

 

“Empty!” he announced before disappearing into the room.

 

A moment later, he appeared once more, stuffing a pillow and a sheet into the passage.

 

“Don’t just stand there gawping, Potter. Give us a hand,” Malfoy demanded before disappearing once more. Harry dutifully collected the pillow and sheet, taking them back to the circular room.

 

When Malfoy returned he was struggling with another sheet and a blanket.

 

“I’m assuming it was Ernie’s,” Malfoy explained as he began to lay the bedding out, constructing a makeshift bed. “The drawers by it were emptied. Looks like they’re not expecting him back anytime soon.”

 

“I heard he’s in St. Mungo’s,” Harry commented, helping Malfoy straighten out the bedding. They finished, and Malfoy looked up at Harry with a look of unadulterated perversion. 

 

“Now then, Potter. Didn’t you mention something about ‘positive-reinforcement therapy’?” Malfoy looked around the room once more, considering what Harry must have witnessed. “So Pansy and Ernie were… while you were in here under your cloak?”

 

Harry nodded, embarrassed.

 

“You dirty perve!” Malfoy joked, and he pulled Harry close. “Do you want to do a re-enactment—so whenever the memory comes back to you, you automatically think of me?”

 

“A re-enactment?” Harry queried, feeling a bit awkward now the moment had come for them to push things further. He guessed that at least this way he’d have some sort of guidelines from which to work. “Okay, I’ll give it a go.”

 

“Do you want to be Pansy or Ernie?” Malfoy asked in all seriousness.

 

“Er…” Harry dithered, lost for words, not expecting roles to be assigned.

 

“Can’t decide? I’ll be Pansy then,” Malfoy asserted. “I assume she was the more dominant of the two.”

 

Harry swallowed nervously, anticipating what was to come, but also very well aware of his own inexperience. Part of him just wanted to get their first time at being this intimate with each other out of the way so that, once more, he could feel at ease being alone with Malfoy.

 

“Tell me—in detail—what happened,” Malfoy began huskily. “From the moment they were both in the room.”

 

“A… As soon as they came in here, Pansy had Ernie against the wall and w… was kissing him.”

 

Harry’s breath left him as he was pushed next to the door, with Malfoy pinned against him. Malfoy was grinning, clearly enjoying the role-play and Harry’s stunned expression. He leaned in and started to kiss Harry, to which Harry eagerly responded. Harry was starting to relax slightly, now that things had begun and they were back to the familiar territory of kissing. They kissed slowly and deeply, relishing the contact between their mouths. Eventually—and to Harry’s frustration—Malfoy broke it off, tilting his head back and smiling. 

 

“Like that?” he asked, to which Harry nodded. “What next?”

 

“She…” Harry felt butterflies waking in his stomach. He hadn’t really appreciated until this moment just how fast things had progressed between Ernie and Pansy. He found it quite a scary prospect to think that he was that close to having Malfoy finally touch him. “She didn’t waste any time—they didn’t have long before Ernie had to go back—sh… she unzipped his trousers.”

 

Malfoy’s smile widened even further. He looked downward as his hand moved towards Harry’s own zipper, brushing over the outline of Harry’s erection. Harry gasped at the feel of another’s hand touching him, even though it was only brief and through the material of his trousers: Harry was well aware of it beinga taster of what was to come. Painfully slowly, Malfoy unhooked the clasp at the top, and then he worked the zipper all the way down. The anticipation was flooding Harry’s senses, he couldn’t do anything, and he couldn’t think; he could only stand there, feeling his nerve endings tingling at the closeness of Malfoy’s hand. Pushing the material from Harry’s hips, Malfoy let the trousers fall into a pool on the floor. He then cupped his hand over Harry’s groin, eliciting a moan from Harry. They kissed deeply, Malfoy moving his hand gently up and down, and Harry issuing further noises around Malfoy’s mouth. Harry’s heart swelled at the new sensation of being touched this intimately—especially knowing that Malfoy was enjoying it as well. 

 

Malfoy drew his lips an inch away from Harry’s, but he still continued the rocking motion of his hand.

 

“And now?” Malfoy asked.

 

“They laid down,” Harry replied, trying to sound in confident, but ending up speaking in a breathless croak.

 

“Sexy voice there!” Malfoy jested, stepping away from Harry and making himself comfy on the cushions. He patted the space next to him. “Come on, then.”

 

Harry jerked into movement, half-falling, having forgotten that his trousers were now entwined around his ankles and feet. _Malfoy_ _must think I’m such an idiot! I’m so nervous, I’m even shaking._ Malfoy smirked, receiving a pained look from Harry in response, then his expression softened, and he gently took Harry’s face in his hands to kiss Harry affectionately.

 

“Calm down, Potter. Let me take control,” Malfoy insisted, and he shifted to remove the clothing and shoes from around Harry’s feet. “You just try to enjoy yourself. So, what next?”

 

“They kissed some more, and there were… there were hands all over the place…”

 

Malfoy cut Harry off with his lips, and they entangled their arms around each other, pulling their bodies close. Harry shuddered with excitement as he felt Malfoy’s trousers against his bare legs and groin underneath the thin layer of cotton. He could feel Malfoy was as hard as he was. Malfoy’s hands soon found their way underneath Harry’s shirt, and they began to lightly trace the skin across Harry’s back, sending shivers up his spine. This increased Harry’s feeling of need, and he tugged at the lower half of Malfoy’s shirt, pulling it free from its confines. He had a flashback to the desire felt the other night—of wanting to remove Malfoy’s shirt completely so he could explore more of the pale skin—and Harry broke the kiss to bring his hands round to the buttons at the front. They were both breathing hard now, and Harry’s hands were still shaking as he fumbled to remove the shirt. As smooth skin began to peek through Harry leant forward to press his lips against it, still continuing to unbutton the rest.

 

“Mmm, Potter, you randy little devil…” Malfoy sighed as he lay back to give Harry better access. Harry ran his hands over Malfoy’s upper body, revelling in the feeling of skin against skin. Malfoy’s own hands were soon running along Harry’s back and tugging at Harry’s shirt. “Are you going to take yours off as well?”

 

Harry obliged, and both shirts were chucked across the room. Harry tried to continue his exploration of Malfoy’s chest, but he didn’t get the chance; Malfoy wrestled him into the cushions and began to kiss along his shoulder. Harry let his eyes roll back into his head, melting into the embrace, trying to pull Malfoy flush against him. He didn’t succeed at that, either; Malfoy was stubbornly keeping a gap between their bodies. Harry’s frustration changed to relief, though, as he felt a hand move between them, fingers softly circling Harry’s navel. They skirted lower and ran along the inside edge of elastic of Harry’s underpants. Harry’s breath hitched.

 

“Can I?” Malfoy murmured by Harry’s ear.

 

“Yes. Please.”

 

Harry let out a groan as Malfoy’s hand worked its way inside the fabric to grasp Harry’s erection. Malfoy’s first movements were slightly jerky, but he then moved to lie on one side of Harry, giving his arm more room. Harry absently kissed Malfoy while focusing on the exquisite sensations coming from his groin.

 

“I’m… going to…” Harry panted.

 

“Didn’t think you’d last long!” Malfoy jested. Harry suddenly jerked his hips upward, come landing across his stomach. 

 

Smiling at Malfoy’s smug face and panting hard, Harry gasped at the contact as Malfoy removed his hand and brushed once more against Harry in the process. Harry lay there for a while, letting his eyes fall closed and trying to catch his breath. Inside, he felt warm and content—thanks to Malfoy—and now he was quite happy to stay there, wallowing in a place halfway between sleep and consciousness. But his post-orgasmic peace was soon broken by the sensation of Malfoy’s fingers dipping in and out of the stickiness on Harry’s belly.

 

“Malfoy, what _are_ you doing?” Harry asked, opening his eyes a crack to look at Malfoy. Malfoy was playing with the gummy substance and creating strings between Harry’s body and Malfoy’s digits.

 

“Just curious,” Malfoy stated matter-of-factly, as he lifted two fingers to his nose and sniffed. Harry’s eyes widened, and then Malfoy took the fingers into his mouth, sucking the tips of them clean. “I wanted to know if it tastes the same as mine.”

 

“You’ve tasted your own?” Harry asked incredulously, never having even considered the idea before.

 

“Yes. Haven’t you? You’ve never wondered what it’s like?” Harry shook his head. “Yours doesn’t taste that different to mine.”

 

“Have you done that a lot then?”

 

“Occasionally,” Malfoy admitted. “It’s definitely an acquired taste… but it’s not _that_ repulsive!” he added as Harry tried to hold back a look of disgust. 

 

Malfoy dipped his index and middle fingers in once more, swirling them round. He held them up to Harry’s face.

 

“Go on, Potter. Give them a suck!”

 

Tentatively, Harry held his tongue out. He lapped at the fingers and tasted the bitter fluid. _It’s certainly not butterbeer! I can’t believe Malfoy’s got me tasting my own come…_ He then instinctively opened his lips wider to let Malfoy’s fingers enter his mouth. Closing his lips back round them, he sucked gently, pulling them in and out in a rocking motion.

 

“I can tell what you’re going to be good at!” Malfoy joked, causing Harry to blush and turn his head away from Malfoy’s fingers. Looking at the mess still on Harry’s stomach, Malfoy screwed his face up and then started rummaging through cushions for his wand. “ _Abluere_ _!”_

 

Once Harry had been cleaned off, Malfoy pulled Harry’s face back round for a kiss. This time Harry could taste himself, on his own tongue and on Malfoy’s; he didn’t expect it to, but it thrilled him, and he soon lost himself to melding his body once more with Malfoy’s. The feeling of Malfoy’s hardness sticking into Harry’s hip pushed him into action. He wanted to bring Malfoy over the edge—to be responsible for making Malfoy gasp and shudder. His hands, which had been savouring the feel of Malfoy’s back, moved downwards and round to the front.

 

“Get these off,” he muttered around Malfoy’s lips.

 

“Insistent, aren’t we!” Malfoy jested, but he was still quick to comply with Harry’s request. “I take it we’re giving up on the role-play now."

 

Harry smiled, and he tried to help Malfoy in removing his trousers. Instead, Harry found his fingers were shaking once again with nerves and sheer eagerness—they were just getting in the way. So he sat back and watched as Malfoy unashamedly removed the rest of his clothing. Harry’s mouth began to water; he couldn’t wait to run his hands over what he had previously considered ‘out of bounds.’ His earlier apprehension and feeling of being scared by their intimacy had now been completely washed away by a sense of anticipation.

 

As soon as Malfoy had finished, Harry pushed him onto his back, placing his hands straight onto Malfoy’s smooth hips, thumbs brushing along the bone. Malfoy groaned, and in response to the sound of pleasure, Harry let instinct take him, kissing the skin alongside his left hand as his right tentatively ran over Malfoy’s twitching erection, taking in the new terrain. Harry’s hands brushed lower, and Malfoy let his legs fall open slightly, making it easier for Harry to take Malfoy’s sac fully into his palm. As Harry continued to kiss and lick the silky skin, he glanced over at the proud flesh jutting out inches away from him and could see a bead of pearly white liquid collect at the tip. Harry moved slightly and swiped at it with his tongue, prompting a guttural moan from Malfoy. That was all the prompting Harry needed, and he was soon enthusiastically kissing and licking every last bit, with Malfoy writhing beneath him. 

 

“Potter,” Malfoy gasped. “You’d better move slightly, or you risk getting it in the eye!”

 

Thankful for the warning, Harry worked his way downwards to kiss softly at the base, instead letting his hand run where his mouth was before. Within moments, Malfoy was gasping as he came, his body going rigid. Knowing that it was because of what he had done, Harry felt a rush of warmth flood through him and an urge to make Malfoy feel that way again and again.

 

Curious after Malfoy’s earlier comparison, Harry couldn’t resist taking a quick lick to find out what Malfoy tasted of before sitting up.

 

“Yours is slightly sweeter,” Harry observed.

 

“Apparently, what you eat can affect it—I did eat a lot of doughnuts at dinner, so that might’ve had something to do with it,” Malfoy suggested. “Although, I’ve never noticed the difference personally…”

 

They performed the cleaning charm once more, and Malfoy insisted that Harry finally remove his underpants. They then lay together, lazily kissing and basking in the wonderful sensation of being completely naked in each other’s company. There was nothing that Harry could compare with this feeling of being so close to another person. He let the entirety of it wash over him: the heavy smell of sex in the air; the touch of Malfoy’s skin against his own; the sight of Malfoy’s body lined up next to his own; and—most of all—the moments when their eyes connected, letting Harry know that Malfoy was finding it just as satisfying.

 

“I could get used to this,” Malfoy commented. “So don’t you dare tell anyone where this room is—not even Granger or Weasley—I’m not willing to share.”

 

“So you intend for us to stay here every night?” Harry asked, unable to keep the smile from his face.

 

“Too bloody right! Unless you’re ill, of course, then you can go and be snotty in your own bed.”

 

“I think I’d like that—not being ill, but being here with you…” Harry trailed off, embarrassed. “Am I being too soppy?”

 

“Not yet, but you are straying close to the mark,” Malfoy said firmly, but his eyes betrayed the pleasure he felt at Harry’s comment. “Just don’t do it too often—I’m worried that it might be catching, and it won’t do to have a sentimental Slytherin!”

 

Harry felt his cock twitch and looked down at Malfoy’s. Perhaps being premature wasn’t such a bad thing at their age—not when their recovery time was so quick. He began to kiss Malfoy deeply, and Malfoy eagerly responded, pressing his body flush against Harry’s. But then Malfoy pulled back, eliciting a frown from Harry.

 

“Hang on a minute,” Malfoy said as he began to rummage through cushions and clothing once more. He pulled out a small bottle. “It’s a type of hand lotion, I think. I nicked it from the hospital wing, when I was waiting for you to stop trying to get an excess of sympathy by feigning unconsciousness.”

 

Malfoy poured some into his hand and rubbed it over his own erection.

 

“Are you sure it’s safe to put _there_?” Harry asked, waiting for something horrific to happen.

 

“Yeah, I tried it out earlier.”

 

“Er… what exactly are you planning on doing?” Harry then asked, a little concerned at Malfoy’s possible plans.

 

“What we did that night in the Room of Requirement,” Malfoy nonchalantly confirmed as he rubbed some over Harry. “Only without the clothes getting in the way this time.” Malfoy glanced at the residue of lotion left on his hands before wiping it unceremoniously on an available cushion.

 

“Oh!” Harry said dumbly, liking the sound of Malfoy’s suggestion.

Any further thoughts or conversation were abruptly put out of Harry’s mind as skin met skin once more. Their movements began slowly, pressing body against body, hands savouring every contour they encountered—both of them trying to have as much skin in contact with each other as possible. Despite their desperate quest for physical closeness, their kisses were still soft, lips brushing together, their tongues gently playing. Harry had no idea how long they indulged in each other in this way; all he knew was he could have carried on all night without complaint. But the end was inevitable at some point. Harry felt so euphoric at being entwined this closely with Malfoy that he didn’t want to separate afterwards, and so he willingly ignored the mess that would previously have left him cringing. There they lay, occasionally sharing a lazy kiss, holding on to each other before they drifted off to sleep, content in the knowledge that tomorrow night—and every night, if they wanted to—they would be able to fall asleep in exactly the same way.


End file.
